The critters are out to get me

Recent run-ins have me thinking the animal kingdom doesn't like me

So my best theory is that a sinister underworld gang of the animal kingdom has put a hit out on me.

Hear me out — I have nearly irrefutable evidence.

I started to get suspicious last week when I went down to a neighbor’s house who just moved in. Trying to be neighborly, I brought my lawnmower and mowed her front yard, then moved on to the backyard. Her mid-sized dog saw me and came at me like a rabid wolverine. I was wearing shorts, so all the juicy flesh of my flabby white legs was on display and the dog lunged and sunk in his fangs. Ouch! It was a fun reminder that a dog’s jaws are strong enough to break bones. The nice new neighbor patched up my bloody leg with dinosaur picture Band-Aids. I thought all would be well.

I awoke the next day with a sore and swollen leg, but figured I’d be OK with a bit more Neosporin and more dinosaur Band-Aids.

I decided to take advantage of the perfect weather and bicycled south to Taylorville and beyond, climbing a few hills along the way to get in some fitness. On the way back, doing about 20 mph, I was hit in the head by a bumblebee, flying straight as an arrow. It hit me on the side of my forehead, stinger first. The impact without the stinger would have hurt bad enough, but zapping me with its stinger was just down right rude. It was a ninja bumble on a mission of death.

Normally my body doesn’t react too much to bug stings or bites, but about 10 minutes later, my fingers started to tingle. Then my legs began to tingle. Then my neck and shoulders began to stiffen up. My head started to get dizzy. What was in that stinger? No doubt, it was an assassin bumblebee.

I arrived at the intersection of Holmes and 65th Street south of Idaho Falls. As I passed through, I thought, “I have to stop and rest a minute.” I stopped and fell off my bike, and passed out. (Kids, this is another reason to wear your helmets!)

Two passing motorists stopped and rushed out of their cars to check on me.

“Are you all right?” a sweet lady said. “Did you get hit?”

I felt only a little silly telling people that I got hit by an assassin bumblebee sent to snuff me out by some nefarious underworld animal gang. What did I do to them anyway?

“I’m just going to rest over here in the shade,” I told the nice man and lady. I stood back up, walked to the shade and fell down again, passed out, bouncing my head off a fence (bicycle helmets are nice!). I lay on the ground thinking how nice it was to be relaxing in the shade. I think I’ll stay here in this comfy spot a while, I thought to myself.

“I’m calling 911,” the man said.

“No, I’ll just call my wife,” I said. She’s like Wonder Woman and can fight off any evil assassins.

The man called an ambulance while I called my wife. Julie said she was on her way, and the man called 911 back and told them not to bother.

As I chatted with the good samaritans, I realized that the combination of the dog bite, bee sting and vigorous exercise must be to blame for my condition. No doubt the dog had some serious bad breath that made the infection worse.

“I’m calling the doctor to get you in,” Julie said as we drove home.

An hour later I had a tetanus shot, and a prescription for amoxicillin.

“Don’t do any hard exercising for the next 24 hours,” the doctor said.

“He’s planning on going rock climbing with friends this evening,” Julie told the doctor, “I can’t get him to slow down.”

“I promise we’ll just do some easy routes,” I told the doctor.

Later that evening, two friends and I were hiking up the side of the steep hill to check out a new rock climbing route friends had bolted in the Kelly Canyon area when a rattle snake slithered across the trail a foot away from me. It was only a baby, about a foot long or so. It had second thoughts about attacking me after seeing my much bigger body.

“Seriously, what’s with all these nasty critters lately,” I said, pointing out the snake to my friends.

Higher up while climbing the rock cliff, I came across a dead bat lying on a tiny ledge. Of course you know what I’m thinking — some evil creature planted the rabies infected critter there for me to stumble across and then die from hydrophobia. They’re out to get me.

The next morning several crows were making a racket outside our bedroom window. I was reminded that a gathering of crows is called a “murder.”

“How many crows do you think are out there, could it be a murder?” I asked Julie.

“I don’t know how many it takes to make a murder,” she said.

“Maybe it’s just an attempted murder,” I said.