Being a dog owner in an apartment pretty much sucks buttermilk. This little creature needs to be walked two to three times a day and that means everyday, 365 days out of the year. When factoring in living conditions, i.e. weather events, this is not at all a fun gig.

I have a little dog, her name is Savannah, and she is a Rat Terrier and Chihuahua mix. It is my job to rise (these days) before dawn and take her for her morning constitutional. I feel a lot like one who works in the coal mines, as it is pitch black out when we embark upon this activity.

Now, it must be said that, especially in the morning hours, I am about as graceful and surefooted as a blind bull in a china shop. Combinations of dark, cold and early form a Bermuda triangle just waiting to ambush me and ambush me it did.

Not too long ago on one of these forced marches, we were on our way back and doing a little military double-time to hasten our return home when it happened. I was looking at the dog and not paying attention to what was in front of me and all of a sudden I became airborne. It seemed I had run full force into the speed bump (a fairly sizeable and brightly colored object) and was now doing my version of Barysnikov's power leap in Swan Lake. However, my landing left a lot to be desired (let's just say the head master of the Bolshoi would not have been pleased with my execution). I landed in a prone position, with the impact being equivalent to having been slammed on a mat by a 400 pound sumo wrestler.

Once down, my brain, which was fully jarred from its brain pan and sufficiently jumpstarted at this point, immediately began taking inventory to see how many freaking bones I had broken and if I would be ambulatory or just ambulance bound. I lay there while shockwaves of pain coursed through my body and hoped that my gray matter would soon report back and give me the all clear to attempt to stand. I felt somewhat like a tuning fork with each and every nerve in my system vibrating like subatomic particles. I figured with that much pain going on I hadn't put anything completely out of commission, because there were plainly no circuits dead in my body. They were all reporting in at an alarming rate, screaming their messages of pain to me. (Note to self: avoid doing things to massively piss off your body, it does not bode well).

While lying there, a thought crossed my mind that if I did not get up soon I would most likely become a living speed bump for cars and trucks leaving the complex in the dark for work. Surely they were not expecting to find their clumsy neighbor in the middle of the damn road. Additionally, if they were doing the usual distracted texting/cell phone calling thing, I would most likely be sporting four-wheel drive tire tracks across my body to add insult to injury.

During all of this my darling little dog had distanced herself from me as far as the tether of her lead would allow. The look on her face said it all ... "Lord woman, how the hell did I get mixed up with you"? If a dog can look embarrassed she certainly was that.

Fortunately for me, a fellow dog walker was out in the elements and heard me crash to the ground. He came to my rescue and helped me to my feet. I told him I had been practicing my flying, but that Tinker Bell had apparently not sprinkled enough fairy dust on me, hence the untimely landing (down drafts are a real bitch!). Not sure he bought this particular explanation. I think he just decided to humor me, so as to make sure that I did not become violent. Tinker Bell, fair dust ... you got it lady, whatever you say.

Dog walking for most people is a benign task; only I would attempt to turn it into a blood sport. It is a necessary activity and must be performed with the same vigilance as a mail carrier performs his/her duty. You know ... the through rain and snow motto. If you have the flu and a 112 degree temp and your teeth are chattering like two high speed jackhammers, too bad, the puppy must be walked. I have dragged myself out of bed, dressed like a bohemian peasant in layers of clothing attempting to keep warm and walked the blasted pooch. If you need a definitive description of this early morning look, let's just say if I were one of the Spice Girls I would definitely be 'Scary Spice'. (I always keep my passport on me just in case the authorities decide to check my country of origin).

It is not at all Savannah's fault that her facilities for relieving herself happen to be in the great outdoors. I'm sure she would greatly appreciate different accommodations for this daily routine as much as I would. Too bad dogs don't take to litter training like our feline friends do. (Who was it that said cats are dumb?).

Having weathered the equivalent of the Titanic striking an ice berg, I am always vigilant in my search for the ever present speed bump. Now days, though, ice is my biggest adversary. I hate getting up to find that the entire parking area is a skating rink and I must make it through this organic obstacle course (nature is so damn creative this time of year) on our morning walks (which I have no doubt provide endless amounts of entertainment for my neighbors, along with their morning coffee). I have even promised the dog at these moments, that if she could hold it to spring, I would get her a kidney transplant. So far, this desperate plea has fallen on deaf ears. So each day we are off to a new adventure and the possibility of not returning home in one piece. The dog is low to the ground, so she will be fine. It is her owner with two left feet that is open to becoming either road kill or possibly a box of puzzle pieces to be reassembled by an EMT crew.

I think the neighbors have developed a pool, which gives daily odds on how many falls I will take on the ice and if I will actually make it back home in one piece. So far I have managed to stay upright and return home, life and limb intact. But it is still early in the ice season, so they may have a winner yet ... as we say in Texas - bless their hearts.

My next pet, a fish!