Never turn your back on rambunctious puppies, or why I have a fat ring finger

That title got your attention, didn't it?

The story is this: I took Allie to Dunn Loring Park today for some much needed exercise, and we encountered a very mannerly guy with two gorgeous young male Boxers. The Boxers wanted to play with Allie, who wanted to play only with me and her ball, thank you very much. Nevertheless, all was going well: owner and I were talking dogs, all three dogs were interacting nicely, when suddenly I felt myself hit from behind in the backs of my legs and went flying. Backwards. Onto my head. Onto the ground.

I lay there for a minute while the guy was manfully trying not to hyperventilate. Yes, I said, I think I'm okay -- give me a minute. I took the minute, sat up slowly, took Allie's leash, walked with her from the park and then drove us home. At home, I got into bed and submitted to the attentions of my concerned husband, who is home this week recovering from hernia repair surgery. I spent the rest of the afternoon napping.

The whole time -- from my flip to the ground to the time I woke up from nap -- Allie never left me.

The finger? Apparently I sprained it when I put my arm out to cushion my fall. It's a little bruised and a tad swollen but still somewhat mobile. If I were making an obscene gesture with that finger instead of my middle finger, said gesture would be most impressive.