I just had a 25 minute sobbing session. Like, snot on the shirt, heaving, ugly crying.
I picked up Dixie out back and she was hunting. When Dixie is “in the zone” and hunting the lizards she never catches, she will go all Pit-Bull-in-Detroit on anyone who attempts to get in her way. I know this but it was dark and I was preoccupied so I picked her 10-pound hot dog ass up anyway and she snapped at me. Startled, I reacted and dropped her. Her face smacked the stone pile with a sickening crack. I grabbed her again (happily the impact snapped her out of Cujoe mode) and rushed her inside. I set her in the kitchen sink and to my horror, there was blood on my hands. She had a gash under her chin from the fall. Guilt and horror took the wheel, and I gathered her up and just sat on the kitchen floor holding my bleeding ween and cried and cried.
I am happy to report that Mr. PB came rushing out of the theater when he heard the chaos and swiftly cleaned up both his girls with Neosporin, tissues, and oodles of hugs and kisses.