A neighbor’s big black ferocious dog bit me yesterday. Somehow, without leaving so much as a pulled thread in my pants, his teeth pierced through and sunk into my calf. I had turned my back on the powerful creature and in a moment he had nipped.
I pulled my pant leg up and let the blood ooze. The horrified owner of the dog screamed and scolded and waved her hands and went through a myriad of facial expressions and emotions, just shy of rending her clothes.
After my own shock subsided and I saw that the wound was not too deep, I realized my job was to comfort the crazed owner. My injury will heal quickly, and I will not press charges, but she has a lot of work to do. Biting dogs need to be tended to; I’m not sure how, but there are toddlers living next door and I may have been the preventative pill to keep something worse from happening.
The dog was now walking in circles with his tail between his legs, as the owner poured hydrogen peroxide on my wound. With nothing left to do, I went home and called my brother. He knows dogs well and would probably have a good idea why the dog bit me. He’s also a nice guy; I was slightly shaken from the experience and could use some brotherly attention.
Sure enough, my brother said over and over, “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” and went on to explain that the dog had felt threatened by me. Next time I come in close quarters with a strange dog, he tells me, I should show him my hand, making a fist so I don’t lose any fingers, and let the dog get to know me through his nose. Then my brother reasoned that the dog thought he might be more powerful than I was. This is obvious, I thought, but my brother continued: “We can convince just about any animal, even a horse, that we are boss, simply by speaking in a strong voice.” Well, no more high-pitched, “Hello little poochie aren’t you cute,” lines from me anymore.
Then I researched dog bites on Google. I wanted to know what steps my neighbor should take because I felt somewhat responsible for making sure this didn’t happen to anyone else. For some unknown reason, I clicked on “images” which are not at all pretty and should be avoided at all costs. Clicking back to descriptions, I found the Humane Society and read that there are no hard and fast rules on what to do with a dog that bites. Later that evening, my neighbor called to check on me, and I learned that she had responsibly discussed the situation with her vet and would soon meet with an animal behaviorist.
I also learned that her dog was still young. This explains a lot.
My daughter used to bite when she was a toddler. She started walking at just nine months and had a jaw as strong as her two little legs. Fortunately, her bites never went beyond the family. The only victim, actually, was her older brother, a very little person himself.
Once, teeth marks showed up on his back—a clean set of top and bottom baby teeth marks. I just checked: my son, now fourteen, is still aghast when he is reminded of the incident. Usually he has a poor memory for his childhood, but a person does not forget when he’s been bitten.
Another time, when he was minding his own business, innocently trying to reach something on the kitchen counter, I watched my daughter sneak up behind him and open her mouth like Count Dracula. With her head turned at a slight angle, her arms raised and fingers spread for the attack, she readied herself to sink her teeth into the back of his calf—that juicy calf, just like the one on me that presented itself so attractively to my neighbor’s dog.
What did I do? As any horrified parent would do: I screamed and scolded and waved my hands and went through a myriad of facial expressions and emotions, just shy of rending my clothes. I caught her before the crime, but I was as crazed as if it had happened.
I don’t think this behavior is endorsed by parenting authorities, nor is it mentioned by the Humane Society, but I have proof it is effective: my daughter never bared her teeth like that again. If she had a tail, it probably would have been between her legs for a long time. When someone nips, I’ve determined, you need to nip it in the bud.
