Dog baring teeth

SURVIVING A DOG ATTACK: The Encounter (Part 1)

 This is one post in the four-part ‘SURVIVING A DOG ATTACK’ series, including:

I’ve been around a lot of dogs in my thirty-some years. I mean a lot.

My childhood involved everything from mutts and a Dalmatian to a brood of Alaskan Malamutes my siblings and I raised with our mother, hooking them to wheeled rigs that we rode around the park (yes, this happened). We’re all bleeding-heart dog lovers, as a result, who take in the strayed/abused/neglected canines of the world — and, today, I’m the only one without a dog.

Which is why it’s so puzzling that, the only time I’ve ever been attacked by a dog was when living abroad. Dogless. And in Italy, of all places.

In Cavareno, to be precise.


Kentucky road sign.

Can’t Take The South Out Of The Girl: Kentucky Born & Raised

It’s true. I am from Kentucky. A place far less glamorous or sexy than the better-known California / New York / Miami. A place so adrift among the middle-of-the-country-melange, it might as well be Ohio. Or…Arkansas. Oklahoma? NO—Nebraska.

It might as well be any of the other forgotten-about states.

People rarely know what Kentucky is (a type of chicken?). They don’t know where it’s located (next to…Michigan?). And they’re baffled how someone from The Bluegrass State could emerge neither illiterate nor inbred (that’s possible?).

You would be surprised how much there is to the state, AND how well we Kentuckians can turn out. (more…)