So it's past 9 PM on a Saturday night, and I'm doing the 4 block walk down Main Street from my office high rise to the parking garage behind the Louisville Slugger bat factory. Even as far north as Main Street, the city is fun. Horse drawn carriages replace the cars that you see during the day. All kinds of people are out walking the streets, with no apparent fear. (A visible police presence helps.)
So I'm walking down Main Street, still very mindful of the mix of new and old architecture. The city is in a bit of transition, where buildings that are 100 years or more old are being gutted but the unusual facades preserved. It's eye candy for a kid whose father was once an independent contractor before he got into the stock market.
Understand that I'm by myself. I'm not really... Family calls for every little emergency. Dad's in and out of the hospital. Friends keep me company on the phone. My battery is constantly running out on the phone.
But still... It's tough living alone. And it's tough not having my dog.
So I'm walking west down Main Street, and something catches my eye. I look to my right across the street and see two men walking a most unusual dog. My pattern recognition centers go into overdrive, and I begin to do the differential breed diagnosis. Could that actually be... yes... It's a harlequin-colored Russian Wolfhound - a.k.a. Borzoi. How many of those have I seen in real life? Zero. I once found a (1) Russian Wolfhound that had wandered from his master at UVa. I caught him, got his tag numbers, and got him back to his master. You just don't see a dog like that every day.
This is the closest I could come from Google to finding pictures of what this dog looks like.

Here's what the head of one of these guys looks like.

Here's one of these guys (a hairier variety than what I like) moving as if on the hunt.

Yep... I'm looking to my right. I'm syncing my pace with this beautiful dog. I've done the differential diagnosis, noted the color pattern, and felt the pang of wanting to meet this beast. I am about to open my mouth to say "Can I pet your..." and then
BAM!!!
My first thought was "that didn't hurt, but it's gonna leave a mark."
I look. I walked straight into a very tall, black, iron street lamp. It's right in the middle of the damned brick walkway. Yep... it's strange.
So pride hurt, but I'm alright. I think... I reach up and feel my face. And next thing I know, I can't even see through my left eye. The blood is pouring out that quickly.
Facial cuts do that...
I immediately knew I was going to need stitches. It's my facial structure. I've seen it a lot in martial arts. The pole hit me with my face turned to the right, and it hit the sharp ridge of bone that protects the eye socket. Eye is fine, but skin is split open like a knife gutting a fish. And since facial skin is highly vascularized, I have a mess.
I am right in front of a nice restaurant. I take my chances and walk in. I get a look of shock... but I don't smell like alcohol. I'm able to convince them that all is well, and I just need to stop the bleeding before I walk the rest of the way to my car.
All ended up fine. I got a gauze and stopped the bleeding. I cleaned myself up, as well as the sink. I thanked them and promised I'd come back and eat there. I found an Emergency Room with my car that was just a few blocks from my apartment. The ER was empty, and the NP who got right on me was completely in sync with my needs and my awareness of it all. I was out in 40 minutes with a really nice piece of suturing. Five stitches.
It looked good that night. But as I suspected, even ice wasn't able to stop the shiner I have today. It'll be interesting in the office Monday. God I wish I only had to tell this stupid story once...

More in a bit. There's a reason for me posting this.
Bill