Reflections on a Dog Bite

About a month ago, I got attacked by a dog in my neighborhood. I've told and retold the story to everyone I know (and anyone who would read this thing), so I won't make this an additional retelling. In telling and retelling the story, however, I've come up with an ever-evolving list of things I'm grateful for.

Something like, "Yeah, my arm looks like a mess and it hurts to move it, BUT..."

+ At least it wasn't my face.

+ At least it wasn't right before my wedding, the most-photographed day of my life.

+ At least I didn't already have a fear of dogs (for the record, I don't now either).

+ At least I didn't get rabies (or have to take a rabies shot).

+ At least the dog's owners were helpful and easy to work with to get my medical bills covered.

+ At least it wasn't the same week I lost my voice.

The idea of me not having a voice while getting attacked by a dog is kind of what haunts my dreams right now. I'm pretty sure I would have been in far worse shape if it weren't for my ability to scream real loud.

While I'm still not scared of dogs, I do get pretty anxious when I see a dog off-leash in my neighborhood while I'm walking Ginger. I was relaying this to my parents today and my dad suggested I carry a wiffle bat with me on our walks. He said he used to do that when he'd walk our little Yorkie, Tucker, and he'd smack the bat on the ground to frighten off dogs they encountered in the subdivision. I gave him a look that basically said, "Yeah, but you looked like a crazy person strolling through the neighborhood with a plastic toy bat and a 10 pound dog." My mom chimed in with, "Your father never gave much thought to what others thought about him," and then my dear old dad but his hands under his chin and batted his eyes like a little boy who just sneaked a bite of cake before dinner. Or something. It was adorable, and it made my mom laugh, and I was just grateful to be there, even if it meant I had to get bitten by a dog in order to have that conversation.