My best friend, would look at me with a cocked eye brow and a suspicious look and ask, "and why would you say that?!"
(Sorta like she did when I commented, I didn't know garden snakes had teeth.")
But, that's another story
Going on, I also don't recommend falling down one in the middle of a woods, where NO one walks this time of year . . . except yours truly.
First good snow, and I would finally get to walk the dogs down the deer path through the woods across the street. (Too brambly otherwise.)
Halfway through the woods, I suddenly stepped into air . . . and dropped. I found myself up (down?) to my armpits in a manhole--legs swinging, feet finding no foot hold, fingers grasping at snow and and brush.
Scratching and clawing I finally pulled myself up. As I thanked God, I looked over to see Jack in "full brake" mode and realized I had lost my end of his "flexi lead" and he had no intention of joining it in the "pit of despair." (As luck would have it, it was not long enough to hit bottom, phew.)
After I dragged myself home, I called the City Public Works Dept., and explained the location of both open manholes, (yes another, only 10 feet away . . . really, I had options). I figured it would be easy . . . "follow my tracks, when they stop, you are there!" (There were NO other tracks, anywhere.)
2 hours later a call came requesting I show the guys . . . cuz they can't find em.
Apparently, the "dog walking" thing is what messed them up. "Lady, people around here don't walk their dogs like this." (Yeah, I know, out the door and back to poop and pee . . .and that's in good weather.)
2 burly City Workers trailed after me into the woods, they found the buried covers, replaced them, and then trailed after me back out.
My bruises are impressive. The dark purple crescent moon arcing just under my left trochanter is spectacular. My right knee is raised black witness to a meeting with the iron rim of the hole.