As soon as one mark begins to fade, another takes its place. Bruises. Gashes. Scrapes. They all find their way to Conal’s head. And, usually, they land in prominent spots on his forehead.

He fell at Jer and Darci’s house on Saturday and it was one of his worst falls ever. I thought that last horrible bang-up was his worst ever. I was wrong. This one topped it. And, unfortunately, I imagine that there will be others that will top even this one.

The short story: He ran. He fell. He smacked his head on the corner of the wall. He cried out. I picked him up. He cried out so hard that he stopped breathing and turned blue. His head swelled. He started breathing. He calmed down. Aunt Darci took him to look for cats. He was all better.

But the gash remains.

Take a look — it’s a beauty . . .

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