1. When you think you've sprained or broken your finger, you'll find out that you've actually ripped the tendon (ligament?) from the last joint of your right pinky, so that your finger will now remain permanently bent until you have surgery, during which little pieces of wire will be tied (soldered?) between the broken end of the tendon and the joint from which it was recently divorced. Rejoice.
The visiting doctor will tell you that, had your finger been properly taken care of TWO MONTHS ago when you first came to the nursing station, it would've been a lot easier to fix. As you leave, this same doctor will keep repeating how sorry she is, which will make you think that maybe something else is going on that you don't know about, like you might also have gangrene and eventually need your finger amputated. Or possibly leprosy. You will say things like, "it's just a finger. These things happen ..." even though you will be annoyed that it still hurts like monkeys and you'll probably develop arthritis in that particular part of your body long before you thought you would (as for the rest of your knuckles, you will tell them that obsessive popping and cracking does not cause arthritis, so they can quit their fear-mongering).
2. Sometimes, when you come home from work at lunch, there will be a dead dog at the end of your driveway; a victim of the marauding, hormonally driven packs of partially domesticated canines that roam the streets of your small town, aiming to eat, procreate and sometimes destroy those of their species who stand in the way of these endeavors. You will call the animal control officer, who will arrive at your house and take the little animal away, and though you feel really bad about the whole situation, you don't cry, and that makes you sad because you realize that in living here, you have become somewhat desensitized to this kind of horror. Sometimes you won't be able to make everything you talk about on your website funny.
3. But, sometimes, after three months of patiently waiting and repeating the request with smiles and jokes, you will finally reach the end of your tether and swear to yourself that you will contact out of town fence builders (yes! your exasperation will know no bounds!) and pay a ridiculously exorbitant sum for a secure yard enclosure if the local guy you hired to do the job doesn't turn up tomorrow LIKE HE JUST PROMISED HE WOULD FOR THE TWENTY-FIRST TIME because you cannot take three leashed dogs out to pee five times a day in your tree-filled corner lot and also keep your sanity while neighbour dogs trot into leaping distance, the two big, goofy monsters to which you are attached by braided nylon ropes insist on wrapping themselves around (different) trees and stumps, skidoos zoom through your yard, your tiniest of tinies and as-yet-too-young-for-vaccinations puppy is nearly, simultaneously, stomped by big goofy monster feet and infected by air-borne viruses exhaled by the aforementioned neighbour dogs, and your ripped pinky finger tendon that didn't get fixed because no one bothered to X-Ray your hand two months ago when the problem could have been identified and repaired screams in agony whilst being repeatedly cinched by leash loops or twisted in leaping dog collars.
You. Just. Can. Not.
4. Speaking of puppies, you will find yourself collecting them, as though they are little coins that you hope will eventually become a complete set. You will realize that every puppy you've taken in has been entirely different in temperament and attitude, and even though you may have had a reprieve with the sweet-tempered, mellow middle one, you may have just adopted the screechiest, most demanding princess of the Dog Princesses, who will rival even your first-born for devil-spawn status. You will wait with trepidation as she eats and grows and eats and grows and slowly, but with great efficiency, learns to master all minions in her domain.
