Intuition Ignored

You know what they say... if you've got it, you might as well use it.

I think that's usually said about things like an overabundance of zucchini or leftover fabric scraps, but in today's case I'm talking about the big 'I'.... The third eye.... Cosmic awareness.... Intuition. I have it - lots of it, in fact. I'm a Pisces, a water-baby, whose M.O. is, like, all intuition, man.

It spoke to me today. I didn't listen to it today.

It can be difficult to discern the difference between true intuition warning you away from something, and simple procrastination or laziness. I didn't feel like taking my morning bike ride today. I mean, I really didn't feel like it. I really, really didn't feel like it. It was a lovely sunny morning, perfect for a ride. I didn't have to be anywhere so there was ample time for a longer ride. I did my five sun salutations and that felt great. But I really didn't want to go.

And I went.

I mean, sheesh, I'd just blogged about my morning bike rides and my quest to have killer thighs! I'd just blogged about bike riding being my stress reliever and the ideal way to start a day! I had to go! There was no reason not to go. Well, unless you count my intuition telling me not to.

I got 1/2 mile down the road and was attacked by a dog. A big dog.

It was one of those convergence-of-several-bad-things that put me smack in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't heed the first sign - my intuition - and the next several signs didn't register properly.

I came over a hill and saw a neighbor woman standing in the road. I stopped. Further along I could see a car parked on the shoulder, a girl walking a horse, a couple dogs, and several farmers climbing into a pasture. That's called a traffic jam in my neck of the woods. I asked if something was wrong and she said no, just a calf separated from her mama and they were trying to reunite them. We exchanged "lovely day, isn't it?" pleasantries and off I pedaled. Straight into the mess.

The woman's dog came racing out toward me, teeth bared. I saw it coming and didn't panic because her dog always races toward me, teeth bared. It's a part of my morning routine. I've been waiting to feel that dog's teeth in my calf for going on 11 years now. I yelled at it and continued on.

Then I saw two more dogs coming my way, a big one and a wee one. I still didn't panic because I've passed these dogs dozens and dozens of times, and usually they barely lift their noses in my direction. I'd even petted these dogs, greeted them on my rides; we even observed a snapping turtle together once. But when the big dog got within a few feet of me I saw the fur bristled and the teeth bared, and before I knew what to do it lunged and bit my ankle. It lunged again, I lifted my leg just in time and screamed, and the young girl grabbed the dog and held it back as I rode off. I wasn't sure if I was hurt until I got another 1/4 mile down the road - until then all systems said get the h*ll out of here and I was going on adrenaline. (Good stuff, that adrenaline.)

My mom lives just around the next corner and I rode there, limped into her kitchen, and burst into tears. I've done that many times over the years. I did it when my first true love moved away. I did it while in college for reasons-that-need-not-be-shared. I did it when the doctor found a lump in my breast. I've done it about 93 times since Dad died. I think she keeps tissue and a bottle of valium near the back door for just this sort of occasion.

She calmed me down and patched me up, and I stayed until my nerves settled down. I'd just this morning had a feeling wash over me that said What if I'm suddenly gone tomorrow just like my dad was suddenly gone? And seeing a vicious dog bear down on me was a little too close for comfort.

The doc says I'll be ok, and I've got a sore right arm from a tetanus shot to balance out my sore left ankle. There are four holes in my ankle, but they're not deep, and I swear the nurse's cleaning technique hurt just as much as the bite itself.

My sister had intuitive signs before my father's accident. She even called him before they went north and told him she didn't think he should snowmobile. She acted on it. He promised to be careful. He was careful. Tragedy struck anyway.

I had intuitive signs at a park day with the kids one time. After two hours of seemingly-irrational unease I finally insisted we leave, only to hear on the nightly news that an escaped felon was being hunted in that very park. Tragedy averted.

I thought I was just feeling lazy this morning, even though my feelings against biking were strong and out of place this morning. I was lucky this time. It was a BIG dog. If it had gotten me off my bike... ((shudder))....

Rob is very sweet. Not only is he protectively pissed off, he brought home a whole mess of sweet treats to make me feel better and even bought a rose that the silly check-out clerk never placed into the bag. It's the thought that counts, of course, and I was teary all over again as soon as he got home. I'm like that. I'm strong until I see one of my nurturers - then I'm a puddle before I even get a word out.

Thinking back with the fog of adrenaline gone, it was my primal scream that made the dog back down just long enough for the girl to get its attention. I didn't recognize the sound that came from my body. It was fear manifested as noise. I don't think I could make that sound again if I tried, and hope I never have to make it again. I don't know where it came from.

It's not the pain that will stay with me, either - it's the fear.

I'm not going to sue the neighbors. And in true Pisces style, I was sad when I found out the doctors are mandated to report it and the dog may be impounded. But with a swelling, bloody ankle, I had to tell myself over and over I am more important right now as I drove to the doctor's office. I don't like conflict, and I empathize with being on the receiving end of such news.

Photo: Baby bird rescue

And the owner told me the dog just had pups. She's just being a protective mama.

Now there's something I can relate to - a mother's intuition.