Bruised

I’m out with Winston for the usual evening walk. The last mile or so is next to a road that connects our village to the one next. It is bounded by a hedge on one side and trees on the other. The narrow path is on the left side with the trees so we are walking with the flow of traffic. It’s gone 9pm so it’s dark.
Winston sees someone up ahead and I hear them. As I look up, they are lit by the headlights of a car coming from behind. Standing still, I turn into the trees. My left hand – holding the extending dog lead – goes to my behind my left side. My right hand holds Winston’s collar. All perfectly normal, done this a hundred times. And then 3 things happen: I feel a solid pain where the extending lead whacks into my butt, the extending lead flies from my hand, extends then clatters to the ground and that car goes past.
The couple walking toward me say nothing as they pass other than to remark how big Winston is. I’m still finding the lead and holding on to Winston and boy does it hurt. Wing mirror? No – too far away from the road. Slapping? Possibly. Strange? Certainly is.

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