Got the other half of the first root canal done. It was unpleasant. They have to essentially drain-snake the roots with a little wire whisk deal the first time, and then they do it again this time to make sure all the nerve’s out. Only there’s no Novocaine, because in theory there shouldn’t be any nerve. Predictably, they hit a spot that went somewhere bad, and I made that horrified “YuuuNNnnnnnnnnnGHH!” noise that you make when Pain Has Occurred But You Can’t Flinch. The dentist said, “Sorry, sweetie,” but fortunately did not hit the nerve again. (He kept calling me sweetie. In a mechanic, this would piss me off to no end, but I got the impression that he didn’t even hear himself saying it, and since he is otherwise a terribly good and friendly and not at all patronizing dentist who explains everything and waves in the waiting room and tells amusing anecdotes about weird things in dentistry while working, I ain’t gonna complain.) At one point, he heated something up with a miniature blowtortch and used a very hot thingy to seal the cement or whatever. It was very strange. It’s a little sore now, mostly from the gum being mauled and the jaw hinge being strained, but not bad, nothing like the first time.

On the way back, James swerved to avoid hitting what he thought was a paper bag, but which turned out to be a fairly large dog lying in traffic. I made him pull over, jumped out, and walked back to the dog, who was sitting up and looking around, but just laying in the middle of the street. Great. Looked like a pit-bull cross. Greeeeat. (On the bright side, they’re generally built like brick shithouses, so that’s something.) Another car stopped in front of him and put on the hazards so that he wouldn’t get hit again. I coaxed him out’ve traffic (mostly saying “C’mon, sweetie,” which probably says something right there) and he could walk just fine–jumped up, came closer, then veered off, look suspicious. Parts of his face were skinned, but he didn’t have a limp–presumably a graze that knocked him silly more than anything else. I tried to coax him in closer, thinking that maybe I could get him into the car and take him over the vet, but he leapt up suddenly and took off at a dead run into the bushes. There was no way I was gonna catch him–he was going rather faster than an out-of-shape woman is gonna manage, even before he got into the bushes, and I value my skin much too much to risk getting a pit bull mad at me–so all I could do was look at the driver of the second car, shrug, and say “Well, hope he gets back home!”

I hope he got back home.

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