I was out doing yard work one day. I was enjoying the sun and giggling at Otto because he was SO happy resting and playing under the bush I was working on. I had decided to rip up some dead ground cover and was putting the chunks of dirt into the top 1/4th of the trash can. It was getting really full, but I keep piling it on and kept on digging my little bed out front. When I was done, I felt the garbage can and knew it was going to be heavy, but thought I'd be OK rolling it over to the curb. I grabbed the handles, kicked it out with my left leg and it came crashing down on top of my left side. I was stuck and knew I wasn't going to be able to get it off alone. I started yelling for Zach and realized that my "panic yell" wasn't as loud as I'd like. I yelled and thought he would be able to hear me because his friend had left the door open when he went into play (thank goodness because I don't think he would have been able to hear if the door were closed). After about 10 yells to "ZACH", I just started yelling "HELP!!". It was pretty scary, but thankfully he and his friend ran out. Zach looked at me kind of confused and I had to instruct him to "help get this off of me" and we were able to roll it over onto it's side. I sat up and realized I might be hurt, but I could bend my leg and move my foot, so I figured there were no broken bones! They helped me wobble inside and right away noticed I had scraped the skin off my new tattoo. That area seemed to hurt me the most, but as the hours went on, it was my knee and foot that were hurting. It took me about 3-4 days until I could walk on them with out pain. Yep, that was the day that I fought a garbage can!
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