A Five-Round Fight With Pain, Pipe Fittings, and the Worst Dog in America
What Time Forgot, My Body Did Not
I’ve stopped counting bruises. At some point, you move past injury and into a kind of lived-in ache that becomes part of your personality.
My collarbone is still sore from the last sink.
Bark!
My left forearm hums like a tuning fork from where I smacked it on the valve body three nights ago.
My knees crack when I crouch.
Bark!
My throat's still raw, partly from yelling, partly from barking back at the neighbor’s loaf of bread with legs masquerading as a dog.
Bark!
I’ve stopped hoping. This isn’t home improvement anymore. It’s a prolonged conflict between my flesh and mid-'80s plumbing built by someone with small hands and a hatred for the working class.
So when I opened the third faucet box, all I felt was resignation. A single PVC tool. One page of instructions.
It looked like a tapout.
That’s how the worst fights always start.
Bark!
Round One: The Walkout
I stretched before crawling under the cabinet. Not because I thought it would help but because it hurt too much not to. My body creaked like an old barn door, and the second I hit the floor, the dog started up. Again.
Bark!
Have you ever been booed into an arena by a living loaf of sourdough with fur? I have. The barking started low and escalated as if the dog knew I was going back in.
Back into the cabinet.
Back into the dark.
Bark!
I slid in, flashlight clenched between my teeth like a rookie corner man holding an ice pack.
Right off the bat, the faucet fixture hit me with a Jon Jones front kick straight to the ribs via an old copper feed line. I twisted, repositioned, and tried again.
Eye poke.
Sharp thread on the tailpiece nicked me just below the eyelid.
I hadn’t even landed a hit, and I was already bleeding.
Bark!
Round Two: Ground and Pound
If you’ve never been on your back with your face wedged between a drain pipe and a P-trap, you haven’t lived.
I got the tool into place, tried to torque the old bracket, and... nothing. It laughed at me. Bent, but didn’t break. I adjusted, pressed, twisted, and BAM!
It gave me an elbow to the side of my neck. I jerked away too fast and knocked the flashlight down the cabinet. Darkness.
Bark!
My collarbone took another shot as I tried to slide back in. The dog, sensing weakness, dialed it up.
Bark. Bark! BARK!
I pulled out, gasped for breath, and flopped onto my back. Sweat ran into my ears. I hadn’t spoken English in ten minutes. (Bark!) Just grunts, growls, and whatever you call the sound when you headbutt a wrench by mistake.
Jon Jones would’ve finished me by now. Rear naked choke, tap out, medical stoppage. Me? I was still in it. Barely.
Bark!
Round Three: The Reverse
Something shifted.
Bark!
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the faint sound of my wife laughing in another room. Maybe it was rage. I crawled back in, reset the tool, and found the angle. There. Right there. Like catching a fighter’s rhythm.
One push. It groaned.
Bark!
Another turn. It gave.
I gritted my teeth. Found the sweet spot.
Bark!
Arm triangle on the old bracket. The pipe hissed, but it didn’t leak. The old fixture twisted free. And just like that, I was on top.
The bark paused.
I barked back. Woof!
Round Four: Clinch Work
Installing the new faucet should’ve been easier. It wasn’t.
The tool slipped twice. I pinched my finger in the clip. My shoulder locked up mid-turn. I had to let my arm hang loose outside the cabinet like a rag doll for a full minute before it started moving again.
I was in deep. Pinned against a wall. Tight space. Limited leverage. But this time, I was calm. Focused. Dirty, bruised, and sweating like a fighter holding cage control.
The loaf of bread resumed his monologue.
Bark. Bark. Bark.
I didn’t care. I was going to win.
Round Five: The Decision
With one final twist, the faucet clicked in. It was beautiful. Shiny. Level. I turned on the water. No drips. No squeals. Just a smooth stream that felt like justice.
I didn’t jump up. I didn’t pump my fists. I just lay there.
Bark!
Face red. Arm numb. Collarbone officially moved to "purple.” The loaf of bread barked again, maybe one last time for good measure.
Bark!
I rolled out from under the sink and stared at the ceiling. It was over. This round, this fight, this chapter.
But I’ve been doing this long enough to know something’s always next. A seal goes. A handle leaks. A hose bursts.
And when that day comes, I’ll be here.
Flinching at the first bark. Reaching for the wrench.
Bark!
