In Which the Dog Broke My Toe

Well, it may not be broken, but it hurts like it’s broken, and it’s all the fault of man’s (er…woman’s) best friend.
I’m sure dogs think they get a bad rap because they can’t really tell their side of the story, so I’ll try to be fair and impartial here, but honestly, colliding with Miss Savannah is sort of like running face-first into a brick shithouse.  (My great-grandma was very fond of that term, and I, too, find it pretty darn fun and useful at times.)
As a side note, I don’t think I ever really knew that shithouses were made of brick.  When I tend to think of them, I imagine the old outhouses of yesteryear that were made of barely-nailed-together slats of wood, which if you ask me, seem like they would be a bit drafty.  Further use of the brick shithouse saying might require more in-depth research on my part.
Anyway, Savannah—or as I like to call her, Big Booty Judy—and I came to an immediate and sudden halt as we violently collided with each other in the kitchen yesterday.
Noooo, I did not kick the dog.  Nor would I EVER kick the dog.  But the dog looked up at me like I had violently attacked her with the intention of causing her bodily harm.  I immediately forgot about my toe and apologized to the dog, because I felt remorse at having made her think that I would ever intentionally mangle my toe against her bony (yet quite hefty) leg.
When I recovered enough from my remorse, I remembered to look at my own toe.  It seems a bit bent and the nail was broken, but other than that, I seem to be on the path to recovery.  I did notice, however, that Savannah showed absolutely no remorse at having mangled my toe by lodging herself in the middle of the kitchen—sort of like a boulder stuck in the side of a mountain.
In fact, instead of displaying remorse, she (possibly correctly) assumed that since we were in the kitchen I was there for one reason only.  The Treat Jar!  A lot of wagging and hopping ensued, which led me to believe that my toe was in much worse shape than her foot.  And yeah, she got a treat.  Because I sort-of-but-not-really kicked her.
Here is the brick shithouse in all her glory.  She thinks she’s a chihuahua…a 45-pound chihuahua.  She may look innocent, but mind your toes around her:

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