A Chihuahua bit me at a yard sale

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A true story

That’s right, a Chihuahua bit me at a yard sale. Bit me right on the foot. There was blood and everything. Okay, not a lot of blood. You know how diabetics prick their finger for testing? Maybe that much blood.

Let me start by saying I was barefoot. Why was I barefoot at a yard sale? Because I had just returned from a “barefoot running” clinic, but that’s another story. So, I’m at the yard sale in Burbank, not far from my apartment in North Hollywood, minding my own business, when a little Chihuahua (redundant?) walked over and bit the top of my foot. The “instep” for all you feet fans.

The dog was on a leash and on the other end of it was a woman who wanted nothing to do with me or the situation, in fact, she never even issued an apology for my pain and suffering. Did I mention it was a Chihuahua? But still, I feared infection and demanded the women’s information. She balked. She did not want to give me her name or phone number! I clued in she was friendly with the woman of the house, the yard saler herself. I’ve seen courtroom dramas. I know some lingo. “This happened on your property; you could be held liable,” I said, matter of factly. It struck a nerve. She demanded the Chihuahua mama (that’s a funny phrase: Chihuahua mama) give me her contact information! I told Chihuahua mama, “Look, as long as there’s no infection our lives will go on.”

Well here I am, still alive, but I’ve grown cautious. I no longer go barefoot to yard sales. But it begs the question: What did that tiny dog hate about my foot? I was just standing there looking at some old books. My feet bear no resemblance to kibble or bits. Was my foot threatening in any way? Maybe a cruel bully once stepped on this dog and now my foot had to suffer. Maybe the culprit’s foot and my foot would be in the same police lineup, with the Chihuahua behind the glass: “Yes, that’s the foot, officer.” Or, “Sí, ese es el pie, oficial.” Sorry, I’m not fluent in Spanish.

I don’t remember if there was anything good at the yard sale. I don’t think so. They should have at least given me a Crock-Pot or something.

Sal Rodriguez is an animal lover and Supervising Editor of The Tolucan Times.


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