Fragments From Floyd

I remember now, ten years ago, I jammed my left hand (middle and ring finger) while rafting with coworkers on one of those team-building excursions on the Nolichucky River in Tennessee. Took a year for the pain to go away and the hand to work right. It took less than a second for it to come back last night.

My son's friend from BC flew into Roanoke, and by the time they returned to Goose Creek, Ann and I, early risers both, were fast asleep. Well the dog doesn't see many strangers, so when they arrived, he went his usual bonkers and I got up to referree. In his wild romping celebration of a new admirer come to town, he pronked up all 85 pounds of him into my left hand (middle and ring finger) and the old hyperextension war wounds are right back to square one.

Typing is doable, but only in small portions. So instead of this tall tale covering six long paragraphs with details of the smell of the water, the odd experience of seeing professional associates in their relaxed fit clothes and personalities, or comments about the geology of the river-- mercifully, it ends abruptly after three short ones. Lucky you.