It was a beautiful night with a fabulous sunset. I’d just eaten a fantastic dinner of Escargot and a Big-Ass Ribeye, rare. I went out to the shop, cranked up the stereo to about 11 and pulled my trusty old Adirondack chair over near the door to enjoy the show. Had a huge, near liter sized Chilada in my right hand.
Fittingly, I had Temple of the Dog playing. The Killer Elite (my crew of four Dachshunds) got let out of the house and came dashing out to see me. First, the girls jump up on my lap and start jockeying for position. Then Ted comes up under the arm of the chair and wants up, too. I drag him up.
Poor Doxie, who can’t jump, is left standing there, feeing left out. I figured, “What the hell” and grabbed his collar and pulled him up, too. Really not enough room for the two small ones on my lap, now, I’m totally overloaded.
They squirm around and kick and paw, but eventually all manage to congeal into a stinky, 50 pound ball of hot love on my lap.
Then, right in the middle of Wooden Jesus, CRACK! The back legs of the Adirondack chair snap, flopping me to the ground, my back an almost perfect 45 degrees to the ground.
Doxie and Ted bailed out immediately. (Have I ever told you how sharp Ted’s claws are?) I had to evict the girls to attempt to extract myself from this broken chair.
I couldn’t get up! My feet were just barely touching the ground, and the arms of the chair were intact, so I couldn’t roll out and couldn’t stand up. I didn’t want to roll backwards, because I was in gravel and cheat-grass.
I almost never have my cell phone with me, but I did last night. I had to dig it out of my pocket and call my kid to come help me out of the chair!
Didn’t spill a drop of the Chilada!