Here's something you might be interested in.
Moments after I opened my front door, I tried to catch the security door before it slammed into the wall as my dog bolted outward, leash taut, toward the steps. We were headed to Spring Creek Kennel for a pedicure. I'd almost made it down the driveway to load her into the passenger side of my truck when I caught movement up the street just a bit. Dammit! My next door neighbor had her Rottweiler on its leash as well, and if I'd had a millisecond more time I would have accomplished my task with no further ado.
It wasn't that long ago, but my neighbor has since passed on and the dog is gone as well; I am not aware of the details of either's passing. The woman had to be well into her eighties, and she was legally blind. She told me once that she walked this dog for the little bit of exercise that it afforded her, and I understood and sympathized with her on that point. It wasn't until after that morning's events that I had second thoughts about her activities.
That millisecond I spoke of would have made all the difference that morning, but it was not to be as I had intended. The instant The Rottweiler saw my dog, it dragged her owner to the side of my truck where the door was open awaiting my dog's entrance. The moment my dog saw the approaching canine, she was all excited to make friends and visit.
Amid the wagging of tails and tangling of leashes, the Rottie suddenly decided to put what I refer to as a "dominance move" on my unsuspecting pooch. A huge, menacing front paw plopped onto my dog's head, at which my dog took offense and began to growl as she realized what must have been the intent in that move. It was clear that my neighbor wasn't taking any of this seriously---how could she---she could barely see in the first place. She kept mentioning, with some confusion, that her dog and her son's dog "played" like this all the time, but I certainly was not taking what was happening as play of any sort.
Halfway hoping that the little sparring session would fizzle out or the huge dog might heed its master's feeble admonishments and weak tugs on the leash, I hadn't yet panicked. But almost immediately the entire encounter turned into what seemed like an eternity of growling, bared teeth and pure horror. My wonderful, sweet doggie was having none of this BS from the massive marauder. She was putting up one hell of a fight, snarling, twisting, trying in vain to get the pumpkin head with jaws off of her back, where the attacker had her by the skin and fur and was violently shaking its head back and forth with my dog's flesh in it. A Power Point presentation of National Geographic scenes flashed through my head, complete with stark images of slashed throats and blood everywhere. I kept thinking, fearfully, that this must be it---I was going to lose my dog. Miraculously, I wasn't able to see much damage actually being inflicted on my dog, but the bigger dog did have blood in its mouth and I deduced that this was just going to continue to escalate.
My neighbor really had no clue as to what was happening; either that or she simply didn't know what she could possibly do. She kept scolding her charge, saying, "Stop it!" as if she were admonishing a naughty child. I, on the other hand, had already graduated to screaming at the meaty animal," Get off my dog!" as if that was going to do any good in the world. I was practicing generalized screaming, trying somehow to protect my own dog, while getting the other dog off of her and not getting bit myself, nor making the Rottie any more violent. Fervently I racked my brain for what the hell was one supposed to do in this situation....? I just knew I had heard of something.....
A thought snapped into my mind, the one about turning a hose on dogs locked together in battle, and I found myself running up the lawn, grabbing the hose, turning it on---all in one motion---the running, the hose, turning it on, water coming out, lumbering way too slowly back to the dogs, my heart beating wildly, anxiety ramping up exponentially.
Stumbling down the slope of my lawn toward the dogs with the water running, I aimed the end of the hose toward the intertwined pair. I had anticipated being able to extricate the animals with a hefty blast of H2O, power-washing velocity, but I discovered with incredulous horror that the sprinkler attachment was still affixed to the hose and all I was doing was sprinkling the dogs wet! I was frantic! For some reason I felt it necessary to drag the hose back up the slope to get it out of the way; perhaps I was feeling sheepish about the fact that I had been ineffectual in my flash of brilliance. During the few moments I wasted doing that, a car silently pulled up in front of my house and stopped in the middle of the street. While I had noticed the car out of the corner of my eye, it hadn't really registered that anyone might be stopping by to help; maybe they were just stopping by to stare stupidly as people tend to do. As I rejoined the fray again, I was amazed and astounded to see that the dogs were separated! One leash was in the hands of a dark-haired woman, and the other leash seemed to be in the hands of another dark haired woman...did she look like the same woman?
Never mind, I had to get out of there, and quick! I shot a hasty, heartfelt, "Thank you," and shoveled my pet into the passenger side of my truck, my dog looking as wildly frantic as I felt. She was breathing very heavily and looking extremely stressed. I held her, stroking her, and spoke soothingly to her while looking for the horrible damage I just knew had to be there. Surprisingly, there was very little to see. But she was indeed in pain, and I attempted to calm her as best I could.
That evening, after the vet's diagnosis of "lucky dog," Flower and I relaxed in front of the TV together. I found myself realizing that I would really appreciate the chance to thank the mysterious ladies who had saved our day. How could I find out who they were, or if they were still around? Maybe I should take a little walk with the dog, but...nah. We'd had enough excitement for one day. Just about then, Flower was barking and the front door was knocking. It was the women! As it turned out they were twins; they'd been visiting their sister up the street and had never been there before. They had dogs of their own, and it was only natural that they would stop to help, they said.
"How'd you do it---get the dogs apart?" I needed to know. "My head went completely blank." "Oh, the other dog had on a choke chain; we just pulled on it and that did the trick."
Even in its simplicity, that statement seemed instantly brilliant. Later, as I lay in bed, I basked in the warm and loving glow of serendipitous gratitude as we turned in for the night.
Moments after I opened my front door, I tried to catch the security door before it slammed into the wall as my dog bolted outward, leash taut, toward the steps. We were headed to Spring Creek Kennel for a pedicure. I'd almost made it down the driveway to load her into the passenger side of my truck when I caught movement up the street just a bit. Dammit! My next door neighbor had her Rottweiler on its leash as well, and if I'd had a millisecond more time I would have accomplished my task with no further ado.
It wasn't that long ago, but my neighbor has since passed on and the dog is gone as well; I am not aware of the details of either's passing. The woman had to be well into her eighties, and she was legally blind. She told me once that she walked this dog for the little bit of exercise that it afforded her, and I understood and sympathized with her on that point. It wasn't until after that morning's events that I had second thoughts about her activities.
That millisecond I spoke of would have made all the difference that morning, but it was not to be as I had intended. The instant The Rottweiler saw my dog, it dragged her owner to the side of my truck where the door was open awaiting my dog's entrance. The moment my dog saw the approaching canine, she was all excited to make friends and visit.
Amid the wagging of tails and tangling of leashes, the Rottie suddenly decided to put what I refer to as a "dominance move" on my unsuspecting pooch. A huge, menacing front paw plopped onto my dog's head, at which my dog took offense and began to growl as she realized what must have been the intent in that move. It was clear that my neighbor wasn't taking any of this seriously---how could she---she could barely see in the first place. She kept mentioning, with some confusion, that her dog and her son's dog "played" like this all the time, but I certainly was not taking what was happening as play of any sort.
Halfway hoping that the little sparring session would fizzle out or the huge dog might heed its master's feeble admonishments and weak tugs on the leash, I hadn't yet panicked. But almost immediately the entire encounter turned into what seemed like an eternity of growling, bared teeth and pure horror. My wonderful, sweet doggie was having none of this BS from the massive marauder. She was putting up one hell of a fight, snarling, twisting, trying in vain to get the pumpkin head with jaws off of her back, where the attacker had her by the skin and fur and was violently shaking its head back and forth with my dog's flesh in it. A Power Point presentation of National Geographic scenes flashed through my head, complete with stark images of slashed throats and blood everywhere. I kept thinking, fearfully, that this must be it---I was going to lose my dog. Miraculously, I wasn't able to see much damage actually being inflicted on my dog, but the bigger dog did have blood in its mouth and I deduced that this was just going to continue to escalate.
My neighbor really had no clue as to what was happening; either that or she simply didn't know what she could possibly do. She kept scolding her charge, saying, "Stop it!" as if she were admonishing a naughty child. I, on the other hand, had already graduated to screaming at the meaty animal," Get off my dog!" as if that was going to do any good in the world. I was practicing generalized screaming, trying somehow to protect my own dog, while getting the other dog off of her and not getting bit myself, nor making the Rottie any more violent. Fervently I racked my brain for what the hell was one supposed to do in this situation....? I just knew I had heard of something.....
A thought snapped into my mind, the one about turning a hose on dogs locked together in battle, and I found myself running up the lawn, grabbing the hose, turning it on---all in one motion---the running, the hose, turning it on, water coming out, lumbering way too slowly back to the dogs, my heart beating wildly, anxiety ramping up exponentially.
Stumbling down the slope of my lawn toward the dogs with the water running, I aimed the end of the hose toward the intertwined pair. I had anticipated being able to extricate the animals with a hefty blast of H2O, power-washing velocity, but I discovered with incredulous horror that the sprinkler attachment was still affixed to the hose and all I was doing was sprinkling the dogs wet! I was frantic! For some reason I felt it necessary to drag the hose back up the slope to get it out of the way; perhaps I was feeling sheepish about the fact that I had been ineffectual in my flash of brilliance. During the few moments I wasted doing that, a car silently pulled up in front of my house and stopped in the middle of the street. While I had noticed the car out of the corner of my eye, it hadn't really registered that anyone might be stopping by to help; maybe they were just stopping by to stare stupidly as people tend to do. As I rejoined the fray again, I was amazed and astounded to see that the dogs were separated! One leash was in the hands of a dark-haired woman, and the other leash seemed to be in the hands of another dark haired woman...did she look like the same woman?
Never mind, I had to get out of there, and quick! I shot a hasty, heartfelt, "Thank you," and shoveled my pet into the passenger side of my truck, my dog looking as wildly frantic as I felt. She was breathing very heavily and looking extremely stressed. I held her, stroking her, and spoke soothingly to her while looking for the horrible damage I just knew had to be there. Surprisingly, there was very little to see. But she was indeed in pain, and I attempted to calm her as best I could.
That evening, after the vet's diagnosis of "lucky dog," Flower and I relaxed in front of the TV together. I found myself realizing that I would really appreciate the chance to thank the mysterious ladies who had saved our day. How could I find out who they were, or if they were still around? Maybe I should take a little walk with the dog, but...nah. We'd had enough excitement for one day. Just about then, Flower was barking and the front door was knocking. It was the women! As it turned out they were twins; they'd been visiting their sister up the street and had never been there before. They had dogs of their own, and it was only natural that they would stop to help, they said.
"How'd you do it---get the dogs apart?" I needed to know. "My head went completely blank." "Oh, the other dog had on a choke chain; we just pulled on it and that did the trick."
Even in its simplicity, that statement seemed instantly brilliant. Later, as I lay in bed, I basked in the warm and loving glow of serendipitous gratitude as we turned in for the night.