I think I almost died: the story of getting dog-bit

June 8, 2014

Hysterical. Yes, I was hysterical. Wouldn’t you be hysterical if someone had hold of your tail with their teeth and was trying to tear it off? Wouldn’t you be hysterical if that same someone had already bitten you in the butt? Wouldn’t you be screaming your crazy head off if all that was happening to you? You know you would. There is a time for hysterics, and that was it.

 It was a lovely day for a walk through our peaceful neighborhood with my Mom and brother Riley. There are no sidewalks and only cars from the neighbors go by, so we were all strolling down the middle of the road toward the cul-de-sac. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a smallish white and brown terrier came tearing at us, curving around our right side where Riley was walking. Later, as her excuse for not rescuing me sooner, Mom related that everyone got behind her and she couldn’t see what was happening. As she turned to look, everyone kept circling behind her so it took her what was a very long minute to quickly turn the other way. Her first thoughts were that Riley was attacking and killing the interloper. The screams were deafening. When she finally got us all in front of her, she saw the horrible terrier was trying to tear off my tail. That was me screaming! At that point she had the presence of mind to grab me up into her arms and chase away that vicious creature. What, you may ask, was Riley doing all this time? I’ll tell you what – standing there like a big dope with his tail tucked between his legs, looking all worried.

 This dog’s mom came running out wanting to know if I was ok. Of course I wasn’t ok! Didn’t she hear me screaming!? I wasn’t shaking, so everyone must have thought I was ok. I was probably in shock. Someone should have administered first aid. Ice cream to the tongue is usually the best. But I was bleeding. Now, I could be vindictive and tell you what breed this little monster was (not schnauzer, I assure you). But I hear there are good dogs in this breed, so I won’t try to prejudice you against them. I think this one was just crazy as bat poop. Her mom said she was thirteen years old and had always attacked any dog she could get her teeth into. My Mom said she would inform her if there was a vet bill. Egads, could the day get any worse?

 So here we go back down the road toward home, me all dog bit and Riley all tucked under, and what happens next? A car bearing a small female child stops next to us, the window rolls down, and the lady driving the car says, “Oh, my daughter loves dogs! Can she see them?”

This would have been a good time for me to go running into the woods, but Mom had that pinch collar thingy on my neck and I couldn’t get away.

Thinking the woman would have some sense in her head and leave, Mom said, “My small dog here just got bit by another dog, so she would have to pet this big one.” Not to be deferred by a poor bleeding schnauzer or a seventy pound hulk, the lady came around the car and opened the door where the little one was strapped into a car seat. Mom started pulling Riley over to the car. To his credit – or lack of good sense – Riley does enjoy the little people and is very careful around them. This time, however, he started pulling away from the car, which meant pulling away from the child. Still pressing on with her agenda, the lady unlatched what by now had been revealed to be a one-year-old girl from her car seat, took her out and stood her up next to the big red dog. Riley rubbed her gently with his big T-Rex head and made googly eyes at her. For once, I was glad to be ignored. Mission accomplished, the lady strapped the child back into her car seat and shut the door. What happens when you remove a dog-loving child from a big, child-loving dog? Yep, the crying and reaching began. By the child, not by Riley. So Mom tries to take the Ri-boy back over to the car, but he was having none of it. Finally the lady drove on down the road, leaving us to make our way back home to take care of me.

Bad day rapidly getting worse…I got dropped into the dog bathtub as soon as we walked through the door. There was talk about disinfecting the wounds. I lost some hair on my left rump where the creature’s fang had punctured me. And I was bleeding from the underside of my tail. The good news was that Mom determined I didn’t need to go to the vet. Whew, dodged that bullet, as well as the inevitable glass stick up the patuti.

 Since the story of my misadventure winds down about now, this seems like a good time to go back to the story of Riley. Because of something bad that happened to him at the dog park, he acquired this nasty habit of attacking other dogs. Ever since then, everyone has been trying to teach him to be nice when he meets other dogs. I’ve noticed that he has been playing nicely with two dogs who live next door, and not bothering any of the other neighborhood dogs. So it seems that when the monster dog attacked me, he was torn about what to do. He was trying to be a good dog even though he knew I was in trouble. Then he could tell that Mom was upset with him for not helping me. And when the car came along, he thought she was trying to put him in it to get rid of him!. Twice! As in get in. No? Meet the nice child. Now get in. What a dufus

 Now that I stop to think about it, I guess Riley wasn’t having such a good day either.

 Later that afternoon the mom of the monster dog came to our house to see if I was ok. She figured out I was ok when I stood on the other side of the door window barking at the top of my lungs at her. I could hear what she was saying through the door. She had been a nervous wreck all afternoon and couldn’t take having this happen again, so her husband was taking the monster terrier to have her put to sleep. I am not sure what that means, but I do remember that when my step-sister Ivy went to be put to sleep, she never came back. What that means to me is that I don’t have to be afraid to take walks in our neighborhood. Mom seemed kind of sad the rest of the day, with lots of other mixed up feelings just like Riley. I was just glad I didn’t get killed.

 Lexi, the poor baby

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