The perils of answering the phone.
I was cleaning up the bathroom after having given the dog a bath, when I heard a phone ringing faintly.
“You left your cellphone in kitchen and you’re expecting an urgent call!” I chastised myself.
Slowly getting to my feet, I began to run down the hall toward the still ringing cell. As I did so, the dog came right towards me, chasing the cat. Barely making it out of the bathroom, I swerved to miss the wild racers.
Stepping onto a throw rug , it crumpled under my foot and sent me skidding rapidly past the animals. On a collision course with the wall at the end of the hall, I could do nothing to stop myself. Staunching a bleeding nose and favoring a twisted ankle, I finally grabbed the still ringing telephone.
“Good morning, madam. We will be in your area to clean ducks. May we sign you up?”
“Did you say ducks?” I queried.
“Could you spell the word you mean for me?” I asked.
“D-u-c-k-s” I heard.
“My husband hasn’t bagged any this year and when he does, he cleans his own.”
The click I heard next was very satisfying. I closed my phone and slipped it into my pocket. I limped over to my chaise lounge and lowered myself gingerly into it.
My shirt was covered with blood from my nose and my ankle was rapidly swelling. The two miscreants who had been my downfall, came up and sat with me. The cat curled herself around my ankle and the dog, damp still, licked my battered nose gently.
“Hi honey! How was your day off?” I heard my husband’s voice say.
“Eventful, you might even say catastrophic!” I replied weakly as I drifted off to sleep, with the dog snoring in my ear.