I wanted to start painting the fascia boards on the house this week, but I discovered that a couple of them had been attacked by insects. Either termites or carpenter ants, it didn't matter, there was no evidence that the bugs were still there. However, I would have to pry those bad boards off the house and replace them. So I went next door to my neighbor and asked to borrow his big crowbar.
"Are you sure you can do that by yourself Alan?" He asked.
"Oh sure, I don't think it's that hard to do."
"I'm not going to hear you screaming in pain, no ambulances pulling up, or a limb impaled on nail I hope. I know you Alan, be careful."
I was very sure of myself and took it on. First I positioned the ladder under the eaves, then I jammed the big crowbar into the small opening between the eaves and the board that I needed to pry off. After great effort I finally popped it off and it came crashing to the ground. The board and the piece that it had been attached to were bristling with large, sharp nails. I disposed of the board, removed the nails from the backing lumber, and I was done with that part of the job. I had not injured myself in any way. There were no nails through my hand, no debris in my eyes, and there was no ambulance out front loading my broken body into it. I was done and still in one piece, so I casually walked over to the neighbor's house to return his crowbar. I got to his gate, pulled the latch to open it, and walked into his yard, crowbar in hand. Before the gate even closed behind me I could feel pain shooting through my right arm. I looked down to see a large dog chomping down on my hand. It was Star, a dog that I have encountered before with no problems. As blood trickled down my fingers and the dog continued to snarl and snap at me, I did maintain my composure. There was no cursing, no screaming, just a lot of blood and regret.