This has got to be the worst gift of all.
Ten lords a-leaping?
What the hell do you do with that?
What does it even mean?
Is that like Cirque du Soleil tickets or something?
Actually, and this just occurs to me now, it could be the most harrowing ‘gift’ of all: Wokini’s Lord Dozer a-leaping and a-clawing and a-bruising the crapola out of your thighs.
Once in a while I’ll have a wallop of a bruise on my legs. And butt. And stomach. And arm.
And the well-intentioned massage therapist/chiropractor/concerned friend who sees it will invariably question what kind of tragedy has befallen me or dark secret I’m keeping or just give me a sad and knowing look.
And that’s when it’s time to admit the hard truth: I am in a domestic violence situation with my dog.
When I get home after a two hour or (god help me) two week or (god help us all) two month absence, the Alaskan Malamute official registered with the American Kennel Club as “Wokini’s Lord Dozer” goes fucking nuts and leaps and pirouettes and surges and vaults and ricochets off the soft substance formerly known as my flesh, leaving deep gashes of joy.
Thus, I’ll be frank and say that the combination of the words ‘leap’ and ‘Lord’ leaves me a bit shaky and wanting for shin guards and other protective gear.
And slightly dreading tonight’s late-night arrival back home.
I can almost feel the bruise starting to form…