"Can you take the-ow-dog out?" asked my mother, doing the usual summer chores which included tripping over the dog's gate. "Alright beavis, come on." I called out to my dog, Levi. We always just called him "beavis," although there wasn't really any reason to. I picked the leash up from the counter, where all the dog treats and rawhide was. For some reason my mom bought catnip, God knows why. I clipped the leash onto the dog's collar. I never bothered to put shoes on in the summer, so I just went to open the door, barefoot and all.
The frustrating thing about this dog was that whenever you go to open the door, he was no more than half an inch away from the door, so when you actually open it he tries to squeeze his little fat body through the open part of the door, which is really narrow and you think that he'll break his face doing it.
Anyway, after he nearly broke his face, again, he stormed down the porch stairs, as usual, nearly killing me in the process, as usual. He ran to the ornamental grass, and, you know, did his business. When I stepped on the grass, I stepped on a really big (and really sharp) piece of glass. I didn't notice anything at first.
I tugged on the dog's leash, attempting to get his attention so I could get inside and play video games or something. Levi didn't move and just kept nibbling at the ornamental grass. "Come on, dog." He didn't budge. So, I decided to just walk over to the steps and make him follow me. The second I stepped on the black tar of my driveway (mind you, this is in the summertime, so the black tar was hot.) excruciating pain flared in a small area on the left side of my right foot. Once I stepped on the black tar the pain flared through one nerve ending into another a nerve, and in half a millisecond sent the message to my brain. Through clenched teeth, I said "Come on dog! Let's go!" I pulled on the leash as hard as I could.
He couldn't resist any longer and he stormed back up the porch stairs. I hopped on one foot into the kitchen, which, fortunately, is the first room you come into. Blood was all over the place. The floor looked like "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" was filmed there. I could smell the iron-like stench that filled the room. I looked at the floor. Blotches of blood and gore were everywhere.
My brother was with his friend, Jake, at the time. Paul (my brother) looked at the gash on the side of my foot and said "That'll need stitches." said my brother.
I am going to die, I thought. Paul and Jake went out to look for the glass. It didn't take them long, because the first thing they saw was a small red gleam, near the ornamental grass. The shard was pretty big. It was the spot on a bottle right under the neck of the bottle, but only a little part of it, and, with my rotten luck, the sharpest one, gored my foot. I had to get four stitches, and had to leave them in for, what, a week? Two? Over the two years and three months I've completely forgot. But the one thing I do remember is the lesson I learned: don't go outside barefoot. Or: don't go outside at all.
Actually, I think I like that last one.