And down she went . .

Just a casual walk with my dogs . . also known as my weekly audition for “Ways to Die in New England.”

Cast: Edelman - 6.5, Beagle, barks at oxygen Reggie - 1 year, 90 lbs, built like a linebacker with zero regard for my skeleton

Adrian - agent of chaos Me - apparently the stunt double

Walking dogs could be a deadly activity, especially in the different weather conditions we have up here. Or seasons. There are around 12 seasons, and the risk varies day to day.

I've eaten the ground while walking the dogs several times in the past year alone. Once, I slipped on wet leaves and ended up in a rockstar pose on my back with one leg out, and one under me. Was a real wake up to my thigh muscle. That one was pretty much my fault though. I was wearing crocs.

I've been yeeted a few times into snow banks. Not as terrible but still, my legs always end up in weird places.

Every time, I walk back home with a limp, holding my body parts together while the dogs prance around all happy that I got down to their level to play, and I'm raging inside my own head with a look of defeat on my face. A few times, I've visited the walk-in for xrays or the whiplash do's and don'ts paperwork. My inner voice telling me that this walking the dogs deal is going to kill me . . if the shoveling doesn't.

But, I ain't goin out like that, so heyyy let's fall a few more times.

Now, this one that happened yesterday was one for the books and I pray none of my neighbors saw, because if they did, and didn't run out to help me while on the phone with 911, they are soulless. Also, it would have been hella embarrassing.

This is where it gets a little crazy.

Adrian always wants to come with me when I walk the dogs, but a lot of the times I say no. Adrian loves sticks and rocks. He loves chaos and destruction. In the back woods, I take Reggie off his leash so he can run and go wild. I absolutely can't take Edelman off his leash because he's a hound dog and he'll go Mach 5 to the next town over while pissing off every other dog along the way.

When Reggie is not attached to me, Adrian plays fetch - except Reggie doesn't know how to return the item yet. We're working on it. Anyway, there are many times that Adrian has poked the dogs or me with a huge stick. He allegedly put a hole in Reggie's side. I say allegedly because I didn't actually see it happen, but the circular wound still had some bark in it when I went to clean it out. Adrian has said "Reggie., get your stick", and then whips it at me. Or, "Reggie, get your rock!" as he throws a large rock at the dog.

Before I go any further - his therapist and her team know about this. More of the insanity that I've gone through about everyone knowing and no one doing . . later.

Yesterday (which is still today for me since I haven't gone to bed yet). as we were walking out of the woods, I put Reggie back on his leash. Edelman was still attached to me. I have one of those leashes that is anchored around my waist. It's less painful when Edelman wants to sniff everything that is 4 feet further than his leash. Constantly. Reggie's leash is just a strong long one. He wears a vest like body harness that I attach it to.

As we were walking down a small road that has a bit of a decline, Adrian did one of those "Reggie, get your stick" numbers, throwing it fairly far, but I was able to hold Reggie back. He's done this many times before. I reminded him again, "please, I am attached to him. If you do that, he bolts and it yanks . . . " Just then, he did it again, and I didn't see it coming. Reggie took off and I was attached. I should have let go, but I thought I could hold him. The leash was ripped out of my hand and I came down on the pavement so hard, I saw ancestors. I was dragged through leaves, dirt, and something that I am choosing to believe was NOT poop.

Current status:

Shoulder? Absolutely shredded.

Neck? On fire.

Body? Filing complaints.

Dignity? Left back on the road somewhere.

AND my health insurance just got terminated last week.

Timing? Impeccable.

Adrian cried and said he’s sorry. He always says he's sorry after he does some wild shit. And I believe he means it most of the time. The other times . . ? Well, I am not sure, and it's scary.

Anyway, I'm going to close my eyes for an hour. I'll head to walk-in later if I can reassemble my limbs, and work on getting the insurance thing settled too.

Just a day in the life . .

Way more stories coming!