I’ve tried. I really have. My family has owned dogs. And other people have dogs that I like … a little. But today has finished me forever I think.

The family I live with has two dogs, Buster and Bandit. They are both small and pretty well behaved. Of course they have a few bad habits, but overall they are cute, and they were even starting to grow on me a little bit. I admit, when everyone else is gone, I have even been known to let them sleep on my bed.

However, Bandit is very small. Very fluffy, but he has a small body. And he loves to run. So if he manages to get out of the fenced backyard – game on. A couple months ago we found that he could fit through the bars of the deck, so that is now covered with netting.

So today, I came home from Curves later than normal because another staff member had a family emergency so I filled in for a while. I let the dogs out as I always do, making sure the gates were closed. A few minutes later I stepped to the kitchen window and noticed Bandit OUTSIDE THE YARD. And I’m ticked, because this is not going to be easy. And these aren’t my dogs, so I really don’t care that much. But of course I go out to get him. And he runs.

So I chase him all the way to the park where he is enthralled with two dogs on leashes. The owner is clearly a dog-person (she has TWO fairly large ones!) and of course she wants to help. So she’s trying to keep her smaller vicious dog from biting Bandit (not sure I would really care) while Bandit and her giant dog stand nose to nose. We continue to circle around with me darting in to try to grab Bandit, who, in case I haven’t mentioned is very fast, small and tricksy.

It’s a lovely fall day here in the park and the wet grass is littered with walnuts. At just the right moment, my left foot finds a walnut instead of solid ground, and down I go. The weak ankle has struck again, turned a direction that ankles are not supposed to turn and I’m on hands and knees on the ground. It is immediately obvious that I can’t even really bear my own weight on this ankle, much less chase a dog. So now, despite my attempt to shake it off, I’m drawing a lot of attention from the rest of the moms and kids and dog-people.

Finally, tenderhearted Bandit makes the mistake of getting close enough to me to find out what’s wrong and I grab him. With the bravest front I can muster, I thank Nice Dog Lady and begin limping my way home. And I’m sure I look fabulous: in workout clothes, no makeup, bad hair, limping, crying and carrying a dog.

So now here I am. I’m sitting in my room with my foot propped up on the bed and ice around the ankle. It hurts like mad. Like I think it might make me crazy if it doesn’t stop. And my ankle, foot and halfway up my calf have swollen to the size of a Bradford pear tree trunk. Which seems appropriate since this ankle is about as weak as one of those limbs in a Missouri spring storm.

In short – no dog is worth this. Period.