Accidental Familiarity

I think most humans are hard wired to avoid situations that can possibly harm them physically or emotionally. Obviously we learn a great deal from our parents while we're growing up, like not to cross the street before looking both ways. You know, common sense stuff. Yet there are many other things we usually find out for ourselves through trial and error before mom and dad can warn us, or warnings that we are given, but totally ignore. Like not sticking metallic objects into power receptacles. I only did that once. I'm pretty sure that I was aware that the blade of my pocket knife was metallic and didn't really belong in that socket. Older people aren't the only ones that have "brain farts". Like I said, there was no sequel to that moment of brilliance. The only thing brilliant about it was probably me, lighting the sky up for a nanosecond.

Then there are the situations we try hard not to get into because, well, just because they're wrong. Not because anybody warned us, but because nobody had to. These are the situations that are too abhorrent, too disgusting to even consider. But sometimes they happen anyway, because well, accidents happen. An accident like this happened to me.

In late August 1995, my wife and son and I decided to move to north Idaho from Bakersfield. I had recently retired from the Bakersfield Police Dept. due to an injury, and I think we were all antsy to try something new. So off we went, in two vehicles. My wife and son were in the Olds Cutlass, and our full-grown German Shepherd, Blitz, and I manned the El Camino. It was probably hard for Blitz to get comfortable on that seat, but the bed was full of property that the movers wouldn't allow on their van, so it was the only alternative. We'd stop every few hours to stretch our legs or get a bite to eat, and then back onto I-5.

It was at the conclusion of one of these stops on travel day 2, in Oregon, that the unthinkable happened. We had finished eating at a fast food joint right off of I-5. Blitz and I were taking a short walk to let him stretch and pee. Linda and my son, John, were already back in the Olds, anxious to continue our trip, and the engine was running. As they began to pull out of the parking lot to get back onto the freeway, I was simultaneously trying to get Blitz back into the El Camino via the driver side door. And he wasn't cooperating. Not wanting to let Linda get on the freeway without me on her tail, I had to take swift and decisive action to get Blitz into the truck. He already had his front paws up on the seat right behind the steering wheel, but he didn't want to go any further. So I decided to give him a good, forceful push from behind. While doing so, I was focused on Linda driving towards the on-ramp and unfortunately, not focused on how close to Blitz's turd clipper my left hand was. In a flash, as Blitz began to jump up the rest of the way into the truck, I felt a hauntingly familiar digital insertion sensation on the middle finger of my left hand as I continued pushing him, and it was buried to the hilt. It only lasted a moment, but I knew what had happened, and was at once horrified and revolted. I withdrew my finger at about the same speed of light as I had withdrawn the pocket knife years earlier when I inserted it into the electrical socket.

Linda was well onto the on-ramp, and I hadn't even started the El Camino. My God, what was I going to do? I had no cell phone with me to notify Linda that I needed to wash my hand. I fearfully glanced at my defiled finger, mortified at what I may see. Thankfully, it was as clean as a whistle, but I wasn't going to put that whistle anywhere near my mouth. All I could do was try to catch up to Linda who was already on the freeway. Not wanting to even get the faintest of "aroma's" from that vile finger, I chose to drive with my left arm and hand out the window for the next couple hundred miles until our next stop. I eventually caught up with Linda, and she looked perplexed, staring at me from the Olds, as to why I appeared to be manually signalling a right turn on the freeway for such a long distance. At the next rest stop, I told her what had happened and then went and washed that finger....several times.

As for Blitz, I may have imagined it, but he seemed to kind of "smile" at me the rest of the trip to Coeur d'Alene. I wish I could have explained to him that it was all an unfortunate accident. Good boy Blitz. That's loyalty for you.