The dog's trying to kill me

"The dog's trying to kill me."
These are the first words the husband hears when he wakes up this morning. From me in the shower as he enters the bathroom. Because something as serious as this can be said before coffee. Not much can be said before someone rolls out of bed and hasn't even approached the coffee maker but the dog is trying to kill me. I saw no problem in breaking protocol. He responded,
"Okay."
He knows that I know that he knows I'm going to tell him what happened no matter what he said so he kept it simple. I knew the dog was outside of the bathroom door listening but didn't care. I began to tell him about my morning.
Forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to rouse me from my slumber the dog jumped up on the bed. This woke up me and my bladder. I laid there thinking that maybe I could just fall back to sleep. The dog found a comfortable spot, half of my pillow, and waited for the alarm while I drifted off. Unfortunately someone dared walk past our house, ears perked, low growl, the dog took off to the living room using my stomach as her jumping point. I've never been punched in the stomach before but I kind of have the gist of what it might feel like now. I then had to get up to pee.
I didn't fall back to sleep but I was pissed so I made the dog wait until my radio went off. This is her cue to start the "we're going on a walk" dance. Our walks are a time for me to put my day together, think out loud with the dog as my sounding board. She doesn't listen to me because she has to sniff everything. But at least it looks like I'm talking to someone, not just wandering the neighborhood talking to myself. We have a few different routes we take in the morning and this morning we went off the beaten path, because that's the way we roll, and walked around the tennis court, by the pool and the woods.
I had my walking flip flops on because its June and I won't put a sock on until sometime in September maybe. We rounded the corner and she saw it before I did. A bunny. They must be an easy prey because to really likes to chase them with vengeance. She caught one a few weeks ago and now has the taste for bunny blood coursing through her veins. I, on the other hand, have no desire to chase bunnies.
What started out as a lack of communication ended up with my arm yanked so hard from the leash that my feet flew out from under me. I landed on my left side and was dragged about a foot on the moist, from the early morning dew, grass. I don't know how I managed to keep hold of the leash as the dog continued to yank trying to get into the woods to hunt her some wabbits.
After the initial shock, I regained my senses and stood up. That was a good sign, being able to stand. I got the dog under control and away from the woods. Also a good sign, I could walk. I ruled out the emergency room on our way home. Everything on my left side hurts but I don't think I have a torn rotator cuff or will need Tommy John surgery.
At some point during the retelling of my morning the husband had snuck out of the bathroom and I was in the shower talking to myself. When I walked out he asked,
"So are you okay?"
"No. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
"Okay, just let me go Spray and Wash the grass stains on my jeans and hoodie and I'll be right back."
As the day goes by the left side of me becomes sore and stiff. You just don't fall down like that and bounce back after a certain age. So far the dog and I have been getting along, we are just staying out of each others way. But I am avoiding going near the steps.