Most nights after dinner you help Daddy feed the dogs. I thought you just dump their kibble in bowls and give them bones. Apparently Daddy has been allowing you to feed Brandy her special dog food. Brandy has lost alot of the weight in last 3 months so the vet put her on high calorie - protein rich diet of soft dog food. She loves the stuff but the soft dog food comes in a can.
What parent would give their toddler an open serrated can of death? Your father would! Repeatedly, for weeks. If I had known he was doing this I would have stopped it. But as fate would have it, last night I come running into the kitchen after hearing your blood curdling screams. I knew something was wrong. There you were standing in the sink, Daddy forcing your hand under the running faucet, blood everywhere. Your blood.
"What happened?!?!" I scream over your screaming.
Daddy answers, "I think she cut her hand on the dog food can!"
At this point I am not in the frame of mind to question your father about why you had an opened can and what he meant by 'I think.'
The bleeding wouldn't stop and I am getting increasingly agitated that we need to take you to the hospital. There was blood everywhere and every time we took pressure off the finger, more would gush out. We went next door to see Ms. Trish who is a nurse at our local hospital. She was at a meeting but Mr. Kevin was home. He is a wood shop teacher and has seen his share of cut fingers. But your finger is so small and with the cut bleeding, it was hard to tell how deep it was.
After much panicking on our parts and probably freaking you out too much, the bleeding finally stopped with a tightly taped over band aid. Ms. Trish came over after her meeting to look at it and re-bandage it correctly.
When things calmed back down Daddy explained that you were helping feed the dogs like you do every night (holding an opened can!?!) when all of sudden you say "Ow! Pinch me!" You hand the can back to Daddy and go back to get the bones without another word. When you return with the bones there is blood all over you. This is where Daddy freaked out, picked you up and put you in the sink to rinse off your bleeding finger. It wasn't until this point that you finally started crying, alerting me.
I know your father and I were more traumatized. By bed time you had completely forgotten the night's events while I was still berating your father for allowing you to handle open cans of dog food! You were fine. We were all fine.
We ended our evening with a rousing rendition of No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. Please note the bandaged finger and the bloody pants.
