Steep atop Denver International’s darkest crag lies perched,
peering, seeing, watching: the cursed stallion.
I myself was afflicted by the apocalyptic hell beast, and it
began the day prior to my arrival – a tribute to its cursiness. An innocents
night sledding was ended tragically by my left knee bending in half the way
nature never intended. Contributing factors may have included sledding from the
top of a three hundred plus yard sledding hill, a small craft advisory, and a near complete lack
of prior sledding experience; nevertheless, I was without warning catapulted from my sled and onto my left leg which promptly collapsed like papermache. I additionally somehow got a road rash on my right forearm from the experience, the stallion!
A few days later transgressions continued when I learned my
four-week clinical “elective” would actually be four weeks of 12 hour days, tedious dictations,
and regular floggings. I had hoped to commute to the hospital via bus or carpool
with a friend, but the partial ACL tear, mild MCL sprain, mild LCL sprain,
patellar-tibial contusion, and gastrocnemius strain all limited the feasibility of
the former while working till the darkest dark of night limited the feasibility
of the latter. Eventually I was forced to rent a car for the mere sum of a
whole hell of a lot more than advertised.
Paying about 3 times more than listed for taxes, fees, and
any lick of insurance coverage was actually one of the few fortuitous
decisions I made, however, as within 2 days of acquiring the new car – and 5
days from my original sledding accident – a young woman decided to drive into
the side of it. Her initial reaction to pulling out into traffic and hitting
my front bumper consisted of “why didn’t you stop?!” as if in the US -- or
anywhere on any planet for that matter -- it’s perfectly acceptable to make left hand turns
in front of rapidly oncoming automobiles whenever you want. Once her boyfriend
pointed out this was insanity she then fell back to exclaiming, “it’s not my
fault!” endlessly until the police finally came. My reward for this? A new car
and a significantly more expensive new rental car contract. Curse you cursed
stallion!
I had to lay low for the next few weeks while the jinx
passed, and was thankfully sheltered by my friend Adam and Kate in their
basement under an alias. They thankfully are exceedingly generous hosts, Kate’s cooking
exceedingly delicious, and their children exceedingly prone to hop merrily in place at the slightest provocation. Aside from some additional difficulty finding dry cleaning – I
eventually had to go to Denver’s Korea Town – and a general lack of improvement
in range in motion of my knee, things began to blow over. Unfortunately a final
blow came the final week when an unknown assailant struck down Dara their
slouchier, whiter dog. Some say it was a veterinarian putting an old, good dog down
to her final resting place. Others say it was that stallion. And still others say it was the stallion posing as a veterinarian. All that’s
clear is that through Dar-Dar’s sacrifice the curse was lifted. Or it just went
away on its own. Curses are weird like that. The boys were saddened by the loss of their beloved pet, but
after determining she had gone down into the pits of the Earth to doggy heaven
and that they’d likely be getting another, younger dog in the future they
decided they were ok with their other remaining pets. They eventually returned to hopping, and after working far more than I ever cared to on an elective, I flew home away from the demon's stare.
This post is dedicated to Dar-Dar. The best old, white dog I have ever known. We'll miss you girl.
This photo is an approximation. I do not actually have a photo of Dara, but she looked kind of like this. But older.
