When I was about to turn homeward off of Cemetery Road onto the canal road for the last half mile of my run, the two dogs that live at the house on that corner charged me. First the pit bull came rushing over, barking loudly and generally freaking me out, like usual. I started walking (like usual) to avoid tripping on the creature and hopefully to deter its instinct to chase. I also shouted at it for good measure, not that my shout has enough volume for even my own children to acknowledge, me and my wimpy vocal cords. The thing kept barking and circling and totally stressing me out. I had managed to walk a few steps forward amidst the pit bull persecution when the second big black dog barreled across the yard and charged me. It didn't slow down when it reached me; it lunged and snarled and snapped. It grabbed my calf in its strong jaws and CHOMPED down hard. That put me over the edge, and my adrenaline kicked into overdrive. I yanked my leg out from the pinching clamped jaws and sprinted away, dodging and leaping and scream-yelling my head off while those two ferocious beasts continued circling, barking, and snapping, cutting off my retreat.
I was absolutely terrified. I had nowhere to go, no tree to climb, no cell phone. I kept sprinting, banging into the dogs as they circled me. Somehow I eventually got past them without tripping and falling over their evil hairy bodies. When I passed the invisible line of their property at last, they hung back and stood in the middle of the road, barking at my retreating form. Problem: they were still standing between me and the shortest way home. The only other route was at least two miles out of my way, and I was standing there shaking, crying, and bleeding. I did not want to run or even walk two miles to get home. This was supposed to be a short recovery run, not a death march! Experience has taught me that running and sobbing do not work well together.
My vanity wishes the bite was a little more impressive looking, for all the pain and agony (physical and psychological) it caused.
The path the dogs were blocking was a mere half mile from our house. Through my adrenaline-rush-fear-induced haze, I knew I had to get HOME as soon as possible before I really lost it. But when I started walking back toward the canal road and the dogs, they turned back and started charging, snarling, and barking at me again! So I walked away, not sure what to do. Soon I came upon a vineyard and noticed a dusty path of sorts running alongside the last row of grapes. I decided to gamble that it would connect back up with the canal road without too many obstacles, and started walking down the last row of grapes, still gasping and crying openly. I was too desperate and pathetic by that point to even worry about the probability that I was trespassing on someone's land, and anyone with a heart would have taken one look at me and let me continue on. I followed the edge of the vineyard all the way down, crossed a dusty ditch, turned and trekked through another dusty area along the border of another field and met up with the canal road a couple hundred feet away from the dogs' house.
For the first half of my ten-plus minute walk home, I kept trying to calm down and stop crying. Every time I managed to take a deep breath and stop the sobs, another scene from my ordeal flashed across my mind and I started crying all over again. Finally I gave up and just let myself cry freely while I walked. I could only hope that I wouldn't meet another human being (or another dog) before I got home. I have been offered a ride home by a stranger in a different running crisis before [Five years ago, I fell hard on rocky pavement and was in too much pain from the gravel embedded in my knees to decline a proffered ride. I sat dripping blood all over the good Samaritan's car while she drove me home. But I wasn't crying that time.] This time I felt too vulnerable and emotional to share my experience with a random stranger, and I didn't think anyone would be able to understand my incoherent blubbering anyways. Thankfully I did not meet anyone along my walk home and I was able to take a few deep breaths and stop sobbing before walking in the front door.
When Jeff cheerfully asked "how was your run?" in passing like he does every day, I burst into tears and told him that I got bitten by a dog. Jeff took action immediately. The man is good in a tight spot. He put on his Jeff Means Business face (high school teachers have a number of very serious stern faces in their arsenal) and he immediately called the police. While he was on hold with the police station, he used my phone to make a doctor appointment for me. He had one phone on each ear. Within a very short time, we had reported the incident to law enforcement and I had about half an hour to gather my wits before my doctor appointment. All of that action with Jeff taking the reins helped calm me down enough to feel capable of driving myself to the doctor. So I went and got my official dog bite documentation from a medical professional, because legally I guess if a doctor doesn't SAY you got bitten by a dog, it didn't happen. Anyways, it took a while at the doctor since I was a last minute same-day squeeze-in appointment. I think it was good for me to sit in the exam room alone for all that time though--it gave me time to calm down more. An hour of quiet reading time without Amber poking and demanding at my ear? Yes, please!
The top of the doctor's page said "chief complaint: dog bite." For some reason that amused me.
At last I walked out of the doctor office with my paperwork in hand and a fresh tetanus shot in my arm. The deputy called me a few times and reported his progress on the situation. He located and apprehended the criminal canine, then asked around at nearby houses till he discovered the owner's name and place of employment. Then he called her at work and went through her options, etc. etc. As it stands now, she is going to pay for my doctor visit and complete the county-mandated ten day quarantine of her newly "registered bite dog (level 5)." If the dog escapes and goes back to its life of crime, his owner will face a serious fine ($5,000) and a year in jail. Wow! All these years of grumbling about irresponsible dog owners and I never knew how serious it really can be for them for their negligence. I doubt many of these dog owners even know what they're risking by letting their animals roam. If they knew, surely they wouldn't risk it, right? [silence]
My sad sore tetanus-shoulder-shot band-aid and another view of the bite.
As I'm writing this, it's been eight hours since the incident. My head and eyes feel foggy and puffy from all of that crying. I call it a crying hangover. Uncomfy. My calf is developing a surprisingly sensitive deep-tissue bruise underneath each bite mark. I guess dog jaws are pretty strong. The tooth marks themselves are not very impressive for all of the anguish of the experience. I mean, I'm glad the dog didn't rip my soleus off! But at a glance the bite marks look like mere scratches--it hurts worse than it looks. I can't even cross my legs the bruise is so tender! And then I have that achy bruised triceps from my tetanus shot on the same side of my body, making me feel legitimately like I got hit by a car rather than bitten and shot. Hah. Whiney piney Shainey. Don't worry, we're having leftovers for dinner tonight, so I am off duty.
The police deputy was awesome. I never met him in person, but we talked on the phone multiple times and he was very straightforward and explained everything well. He said "if it was me out running when a dog attacked, I would take out my gun and shoot it dead. That is your legal right." Say WHAT!? I'm feeling so empowered! After feeling like a helpless victim of evil dogs and their careless owners for so long, I feel oddly supported by... the establishment. Uncle Sam has got my back! I'm probably not going to go out and register for a gun permit so I can shoot dogs, but the knowledge that that's what their owners are risking by letting them roam free makes me feel stronger somehow.
The knowledge that it's legal to defend myself to the death from the plague of the Yakima Valley dogs is liberating! It makes it feel a whole lot more like the wild wild west out here. Private citizens using firearms to defend themselves from public menaces! I need a hat and a holster! And some cowboy boots and tassels! Come to think of it, if I wore leather chaps I won't even have to worry about dog bites because of all that leather. Hmm but if the chaps had fringe that could make me an easy target for snapping jaws. Ooooh, spurs would come in handy for doggy self defense. If I'm going to dress like a cowgirl, I need a horse too! I'd rather ride a horse and have it kick the dogs in the jaw for me any day than try to shoot them with a gun myself. Speaking from personal experience, a horse-kick to the jaw equals lights out and an easy getaway (for the horse).
Even though I'd much rather defend myself as a cowgirl on horseback, I ordered an unromantic can of pepper spray from Amazon instead today. We aren't allowed to have pets at our rental house, so I had to make some concessions. But hey, my pepper spray does have a 10 foot spray distance, and up to 35 blasts per can with enough power to resist wind blowback. That is something! My childhood horse-filled wild wild west fantasies are much more entertaining to consider though, so maybe I'll at least have to practice spinning the can of pepper spray in my hand like an outlaw's pistol before shooting it. Or I'll just run carrying my cumbersome cell phone forevermore and call my new friend the deputy whenever the dogs start yipping and nipping.
A necessary flashback to my carefree Tennessee childhood horse days.
