Six years ago, give or take a couple of weeks, Nero, our gorgeous Schnauzer, was mauled in an attack by a dog that had been allowed to roam free out of control. He didn’t make it, and my wife has never wholly recovered.
Today, Charlie, Spice, and I were charged by a Samoyed. It came from behind and was looking for trouble. Spice took cover behind my legs while Charlie did the only thing he knew—went forward. Charlie is Jack Russell, and although fearless, he’s also innocent and non-violent. Charlie wants to play with everyone. The Samoyed wasn’t playing, and once she’d got her teeth into Charlie, neither was I.
I’m more of a “sit down and have a drink” sort of guy than a fighter, but I got the distinct impression the snarling, slobbering, husky-like dog wasn’t up for a Negroni. I pulled my dogs back (I keep them on leashes outside our property) and propelled myself towards the teeth, making a lot of noise. I punched the aggressor squarely on the nose. She looked at me as if to say, “I was only going to eat the little one”.
At this point, her human arrived and hauled her off by the collar as best she could. It was quite an effort, as I can’t imagine the woman weighs much more than the dog.
The woman, whose name I knew and have forgotten, was mortified and apologetic. As she headed back to the garden, I headed home. Charlie was whimpering.
A few hours later, blood was showing on his left flank. Off to the vet, we went. The wounds are deep—somewhere between two and three centimetres. As far as the doggy doctor can ascertain, nothing internal was touched. Charlie was poked, prodded and x-rayed, and only bit me a few times. Not that I blame him.
As I write, he’s on the office comfy seat, with antibiotics and pain meds coursing through his system. I’m resisting the urge to self-medicate with cognac.
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