March 2017

[Sweder]

Last outing was a little more eventful. 
Heading back from Blackcap over slick turf, sun burning through the early morning mist, I lost sight of Ripley.
Concerned, I turned back, only to see her streaking towards me, belly flat to the ground, ears pinned back.
She'd dawlded, realised we'd moved on and was catching up at speed. 

As I turned back towards the gate, I felt my right foot let go it's tentative grip on the slurry leading to the fence. It flew across me, taking it's compatriot with it. For a moment, I was suspended in mid-air. I could clearly see the stramash of mud and flint upon which I was about to splatter, there, below me. I had time to think 'oh, this is gonna hurt' and to throw out an arm to help break the fall. 

Thump. As if the slo-mo had been released, I crashed at full speed in an almighty heap. I lay still for a few seconds, assessing the damage. 
Right arm stung a bit. Right knee and lower leg had taken the brunt. I glanced down. Blood, mud and something white. Bone? Perhaps.
I sucked air, moving slowly. The dogs danced about me, sniffing. 

What IS he doing? Most odd. He's lying in the mud. He always shouts at us when we do that. hmmm.

I got up. Lots of things hurt, not least my right leg. I tried a hobble. OK, not broken. If that was bone (it was) it's simply a loss of skin over the bony bit below the knee cap. I was two miles from home, I'd best get on with it. On into the woodland, taking the overgrown trail through the trees and out onto the tops of the chalk pits. The pain subsided and I managed a decent enough rhythm all the way home.

A timely reminder of my own mortality. No more poignant moment then a few days before the Moyleman.
It's here.