Never bite the hand that walks you.

I hate that this happened today.
I have worked in the pet industry for 6, almost 7 years now, and anyone close to me would tell you how much I love animals. I am always the one who blames dog attacks on the dog's owners. I firmly believe that. I have always said that there are no bad breeds, just bad owners.


I had a scary experience today.
I was sent to a household that I have never been to. I was to take care of 2 dogs that lived there. Let us call them Blackie and Jaws. Blackie is a sweet, gangly little mutt of a dog who seems lovely and inviting when I first enter the home. Jaws is a bit more reserved. Jaws has not made up her mind about me.
OK.
No biggie. I am trained in this. I am careful to make no eye contact with Jaws, and talk in high reassuring tones. I proceed past Jaws into the kitchen, then to the back door, to open it and let the two out. (We don't walk this household, merely let them run out back.)
Jaws and Blackie run outside gleefully, Jaws pays me no mind. I grab a frisbee and throw a few for them. They play along, happy and content in the sun. I change it up to a tennis ball. They chase a few rounds of these. Then it becomes clear that they are over the game portion of our activity together, and have started some serious sniffing. I know my place, and I back away to leave them to their business.
I spot a yard hammock, and use the opportunity to stretch out on it. Spread out on the hammock and looking up at the blue sky, I thought...wow. What a great job this can be sometimes. I'm getting paid to stretch out in a hammock...even if only for 5 minutes. Nice. Cold and wet snouts break me from this daydream, as Blackie and Jaws come over to sniff my face.
I laugh and get up. I see if they are interested in any more fetch. They are half interested, but more interested in me at this point. I get down on their level, still not making eye contact. they sniff me further, and I manage to start petting both of them. They seem game. Even Jaws seems to be won over by me. I have Jaws head between my two hands, and am rubbing her ears. My face is right against hers. I am talking baby talk. All is good. I turn to walk inside, and gesture that they come with me, since our time together is winding to a close. They come inside.
While the hesitation on Jaws part should have given me a little more pause, considering the breed...Pit Bull...I never thought twice. I am so trusting to any dog I meet in that way.


I refilled their water, filled out my little slip, and went to give Jaws one more pet on the head before I went.










Jaws bit down on my hand and clamped her jaw. She held on for about 5 seconds, applying enough pressure for me to scream at high decibels. She must have decided that she didn't like that, because she let go. What a miracle. If she had done what Pit Bulls usually do after they clamp down their jaw, which is shake their prey, then I would have had some broken fingers...if I would have kept my fingers.
When she let go, I stumbled back into the kitchen of the house, keeping a good 12 feet of distance from her. She maintained her defensive stance. I could see her hackles raised, and could hear faint growling. I looked at my hand, and it looked like a crimson fountain. It was throbbing as well. I continued yelling from pain as it throbbed. There was so much blood and ripped flesh that it looked like hamburger.

I immediately knew that I had to be smart and make no more sudden movements. I had no idea if Jaws was going to try a secondary attack. She was still in her defensive stance with her hackles raised, and growling after all. I know that dogs sense fear. They can smell fear, actually. My mind snapped into survival mode, and I don't really think that I was afraid until the situation was over. Jaws was standing in a passway between the kitchen and the dining room. The passway was about 5 feet wide, with her bearing down at the left side of it. I had to clear to the right side. I slowly walked past her, sure that she would tear into my calf muscle and shake her head. She did not. Once past her, I increased my walking speed slightly. Just before I got to the door, I heard her growl more threateningly. Then I heard her claws against the wooden floor, and I turned to see that she was on the move...right my way. I reached for the door handle, twisted it and got myself out of the door and shut it behind me as she was no more than 3 feet from my heels. Once out of the house, I heard her bark and howl menacingly, but I was safe now.
I called my boss, and asked her to meet me there with a first aid kit.
As I waited for her to arrive, the possibilities of what could have happened started to play through my mind. Then fear really set in. By myself in this house with this aggressive dog...my boss wouldn't have even thought to call me to see why I wasn't back yet for about 4 hours past that time. Scary.
Well, my wounds, which pretty much amount to some punctures and rips on my right pinky and ring finger, are all cleaned and dressed. From when she locked down her jaw, my hand still is throbbing. Such pressure in that bite. Both of the fingers are swollen, too.
As for the dog? We immediately dropped the client. The fact that the dog was fine with me in the back yard...the fact that in the backyard, I had my face right up in front of the dog...and then we got inside and she just turned that quick. Too scary.
Well, the work day is over, and my bandaged hand rest on my own killer dog's head. Reasons like the story above are why I happily own a Pug.

Luv,
SGS