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Sam Dobson Writes: What a Mighty Good Man

Monday, May 7, 2012

What a Mighty Good Man

It's Monday, the day that takes us back to reality and five days of work. Monday doesn't seem so dreadful if you've had a good weekend. For me, the weekend consisted of barbecuing carne asada, going out dancing, and champagne brunch. The perfect end to a great weekend, and the perfect cure for my subtle hangover, was a relaxing bubble bath complete with candles and Jack Johnson tunes that my incredibly sweet boyfriend had made for me. As I sunk into the tub and relaxation mode, my memory took me back to a time when Blake had to wait on me hand and foot.

Last February, after working with dogs for no less than four years, I finally got bit. I don't mean nipped, I have been nipped at dozens of times. This time, I needed medical attention. My right forearm was bit into and used as a rag toy for a good minute before it was released. Completely shocked, I ran around in circles for a bit, cradling my arm until I was brave enough to examine the damage. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I clearly needed stitches. I kept my brave face on until Blake picked me up to take me to the urgent care; the second I saw him the tears came.

Before the doc stitched me up.

I was seen right away at the urgent care. My wound was cleaned and stitched while I grimaced and kept my head turned in the opposite direction. While I squeezed his hand, Blake watched the doctor as he scrubbed the inside of puncture and sewed  my skin back together. Afraid there was structural damage from the powerful jaw that whiped my arm back and forth, I was taken for an x ray. My forearm was only sprained but I had suffered some nerve damage that would leave parts of my hand numb for weeks.

After the doc stitched me up.

Not being able to use my right arm, I was out of work for a week. I basically lounged on the couch while Blake tended to my every need. You would be surprised how limited I was without the use of my dominate hand. My left hand was suddenly getting a work out it wasn't used to. Clumsily, I brushed my teeth with  my left hand. Blake even had to help me button my pants. He carefully wrapped my damaged limb in a plastic bag and helped me wash my hair, which he did like a pro. I was very grateful to have his help until the swelling went down and the pain lessened.

About a week after the bite.

Lounging in the bubbles yesterday, it was the memory of Blake washing my hair that took me back to that time. It's the little things that reassure me I've gotten lucky. I have a man who was raised right by his momma. He will draw me a soothing bubble bath just because, but he will also be there to wash my hair when I'm unable. If you've got a man that brings you chicken noodle soup when you're sick or gives it all he's got to make you laugh when you are feeling sad, then you've gotten lucky too. It's easy for him to be around when everything is happy and well. If he doesn't run when the going gets tough, he's a keeper.

Nothing like a bit of mushy romance to start the dreaded work week. Remember to give your man props if he's ever held your hair back while you're hugging the toilet.

Hopelessly in love,
Sam

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