Bit by a dog

I was bit by a dog while out for a run this morning. 

The woman walking the dog was both mortified and incredibly defensive in the immediate aftermath.

"Are you okay?" she asked in her first breath as I scanned my body for damage. "You know, this isn't my dog," came in the second.

I checked my hip, the location of the bite. It looked to just be a scratch. My clothes weren't torn. The dog's teeth hadn't actually made it through to the skin. I waved it off.

"This isn't my dog," she reiterated as I said I was fine.

I continued to run. Made it about 2 more miles. Then the pain started. I looked under the rib of my waistband to see that the scratch really wasn't a scratch but more of a long bruise pockmarked with tiny tears. I was bleeding.

I turned around and ran home. The Professor had a priceless look on her face when I told her what happened. 

Honestly, I'm surprised it has taken this long to be bitten by a dog. I've been running for about 5 years. I've passed thousands of dogs.

I mean, I've kicked a squirrel when out running (it ran square in front of my foot, I swear.). What are the odds of that compared to getting bit by a dog?

Well, the Prof just got back with a gigantic band-aid to fix me up. Signing off, beware of a large yellow dog roaming the streets of West Hartford. The woman walking it, from what I gathered, is NOT the owner.  

What a strange week this has been.