Dogs and Other Things that Bite

I have been bitten by dogs twice within the last year. Last Wednesday, as I walked around the park in my neighborhood, I was nipped in the area above the ankle of my right leg. Probably 15 seconds before this encounter, my fight or flight instinct had already engaged, when as I walked on the street I witnessed these two small but aggressive mixed breed dogs lunge barking, on leashes-too-long, at a woman walking on the trail just inside the perimeter of the park. I moved hurriedly to get past this scene, only to have the two dogs reverse direction and run at me as I walked in the middle of the street. I felt them at my heels as I started to run, but I didn’t realize at the time that one of them had made contact.

The owner of these two dogs—a woman who looked to be well into her 70s—made no apologies for her dogs. Hidden behind the black, black sunglasses that are popular with people who have compromised eyes, she looked at me like I was nuts, as I unleashed on her about dogs on leashes-too-long. I was beside myself. My adrenalin flowing, I scolded her for being irresponsible. “Have you ever been bitten by a dog,” I screamed. “Yes,” she replied, adding that she had rabies shots as a result. Yea, so did I, I thought, when I was six years old. (My mother, middle sister and I had been around our rat terrier that turned up with rabies, but none of us had been bitten.) As I railed at her—honestly, I don’t remember all that I said. I just know that I wanted her to understand that her aggressive dogs had violated me and that she was accountable. “I hope I never see you again,” she said. “You will,” I replied, adding that I walk this part of the neighborhood just about every day.

Down the street, I stopped to call the non-emergency number for the city of Albuquerque. “No, the dogs did not bite me,” I answered when asked. Not until I was back in my house sitting in a chair in my living room did I look down to see the two bloody puncture wounds on my right leg. I made another call to 311 to amend my earlier report. The day wore on, culminating in an animal control officer coming to my house for a face-to-face report. He was on his way to see the owner of the dogs to get her side of the story and to determine that the two dogs were current on their rabies inoculations. He called the next day to advise me that it was the darker of the two dogs that had bitten me. I wonder if the owner actually knew I had been bitten when we were still at the scene, but was afraid to take responsibility.

“What’s with you and dogs,” a friend asked when I told him about the incident. I was forced to revisit, again, my experience in a friend’s house less than a year ago, as I made my way to my home in Texas. Her brother, also visiting from out of town, was accompanied by his aggressive German Shepherd. I stupidly walked in the front door—not thinking that I needed to be concerned about the dog. The dog ran toward me. I put out my right hand. Clamp!—puncture wounds to the top and bottom of my hand around the thumb. I ran to the refrigerator for ice, my heart racing, in disbelief. The brother took the dog to the back of the house while we waited for his sister to get home. This bite required a visit to the urgent care clinic, a shot in the butt, an oral prescription and one week of soaking the wound and dressing it with antibiotic ointment. Almost a year later I see the scars on the top and bottom of my hand. The scar in the fleshy part of my thumb is hard and sometimes sore.

So what is it with me and dogs? Nothing. As I approach age 68, I have been bitten twice—both within the last year. I think the better question is why—why do people have aggressive dogs—dogs that bite people? Frankly, I’m not interested in whatever psychology any dog owner wants to offer for how or why someone entering a house—a house that he assumes is safe on this day just like it has been the many times he has entered before—or walking in the middle of the street has in some way provoked a dog to attack him.

Operating on the premise that there are no accidents—that everything happens for a reason—I’m still working on understanding the reason. Yes, I get it. I walked into my friend’s home, assuming I was safe. Unfortunately, an aggressive German Shepherd was also visiting, and I was therefore not safe. Yes, I get it. I was walking down the street, but unfortunately not far enough away to escape the jaws of an aggressive dog on a leash-too-long. What did my friend’s brother learn from this incident? What did the woman in the black, black sunglasses learn? My friend’s brother called several days after his dog bit me to check on me. He called, for the first time, several days after the incident. The woman in the neighborhood did not claim any responsibility or offer any apology. So what have I learned? I’m asking myself that right now. My juices want to flow more than just a little. I thought I had let go of the incident that happened almost a year ago. Not until I had a second similar experience did I realize that being bitten a year ago was still with me.

I don’t want to hold grudges, even though at times I know that I do hold grudges. I don’t want to have hard feelings toward the owner of the German Shepherd—a man now 50, someone I’ve known since he was 13 years old, someone I can say is at least a casual friend. I don’t want to waste my energy on anger toward the woman in the neighborhood who didn’t own her accountability and didn’t offer an apology. “I hope I never see you again,” she said. Maybe we won’t see each other again. No doubt, her dogs will be back in the front yard before long, running the fence, barking at people walking by. I’ve observed their behavior inside the fence for many months. Maybe she was afraid that I would take her to court. “Do you want to go to court,” the animal control officer asked me. “No, I just want her to accept responsibility for her dogs,” I answered. Likely, I’ll never know what she makes of this. All that matters is what I make of it. I just want to let it go. Grudges serve no one. Regardless of how justified anger might be in the near term, holding onto anger serves no one, especially the one who holds the anger. I am remembering something I read recently. We are not punished for our anger; we are punished by our anger. So said Gautama Siddhartha, the Buddha (563-483 BCE).

And so it is. Namaste.

Dogs and Other Things that Bite—Albuquerque, New Mexico (August 18, 2011)

R. Harold Hollis