It was horrendous and stupendous all at the same time. The Boy and I didn’t know whether to laugh or call 9-1-1. There were a few tense moments when The Husband tripped over the doggy gate last week, and we’re (meaning he’s) still reeling from the event.
First, I guess I should tell you we have four dogs. I don’t like the dogs on the furniture, what with all that hair and whatnot, so I have a gate between the living room and the dining room to keep them out. It just baffles me how a grown man whose almost six feet tall has trouble getting over this 2 1/2 foot gate, but whatever. He trips over this gate at least once a day, and on this particularly unlucky day, it was a doozy.
It was a day like any other – The Husband got up off the couch and headed for the gate. As I cringed, he lifted the first leg over the gate just fine. I let out a small sigh of relief and continued reading my book. What happened next could only be explained as a freak accident.
I no sooner returned to my book than I hear the gate give way and The Husband utter a loud cry of surprise. He crashed to the ground, ripping the gate out of its confinements on one side. It all happened so fast, I was paralyzed with shock. I sat there for a few seconds not sure what I should do, when I heard a whimper coming from the dining room.
I jumped up from my seat and ran to the swinging gate. There, laying in the floor, clutching his foot is The Husband. He rolled back and forth on his back, blabbing some gibberish I couldn’t understand. The tears, though. I understood the tears and rushed to his side.
I have to stop at this point and say, as concerned as I was for the man, it was rather comical. The Boy, who had been doing homework at the dining room table, just sat there. His hand was over his mouth and I could tell it took all his restraint not to burst out laughing. I gave him a look of “don’t you dare” and choked back my own laughter.
Once The Husband was up and on a dining room chair, still muttering something about the pain, we were better able to assess the situation. There was blood, and lots of it. Upon closer inspection, I see that he’s torn his big toenail away from the skin on one side and jammed it down into the skin on the other side. Suddenly, his gibberish made sense.
When he finally calmed down a bit and I had cleaned his toe up, The Husband began to laugh. I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it was to see that because I had been fighting with the urge to laugh the entire time. The Boy began laughing, too. “That was freakin’ funny, Dad,” he says wiping tears from his own eyes.
So, this happened a week ago, but The Husband is still struggling with some big toe issues. For instance, his tennis shoes are a little too tight for his swollen toe, so he can’t wear them. Thank God for his steel-toed work shoes, though, because just yesterday I dropped a wrench on his foot when trying to help him fix something on the car. I might not be here to write this today had he been wearing some other shoe.
The gate is still standing between the living room and the dining room, but I’m now considering taking it down. I didn’t reattach the side The Husband ripped out of the wall during his unfortunate fall, but there is a dining room chair up against it holding it in place. I find myself praying now each time he heads toward the gate.