The last thing I remember was tripping over this big rock and ending up on the ground, then a flurry of fur and teeth looiming above me ... that, and incredible pain. That's when everything went black.
I woke up in a haze of pain and dizziness. I was suprised to find myself in a hospital bed, a nurse and doctor looming overhead, bending down to look at me.
They didn't have to tell me what heppened. I knew. I already knew. The Pomeranian and Irish setter who had been out for my blood had purposely attacked me. No doubt I got bitten multiple times: my arms, legs, even my face hurt terribly. I don't know why they sought revenge on me; all I knew was this: they were pissed off and clearly did not like me.
That's when I put two and two together. It was because I had killed their "friend". Well, their friend was the cause of all my problems. Ever since this nightmare first began, I have developed a healthy (or maybe not so healthy) fear of dogs. Even little squirts like that cute little golden-red Pomeranian with the cat-sized legs was enough to set my heart racing and my blood pressure skyrocketing.
I knew I had to do something fast before someone else got attacked ... like, for instance, my WIFE or my kids. I wondered if they were able to get out without a pack of wild dogs chasing them, nipping at them, as they had done to me. I started crying as I remembered what had happened.
I was going to call the Humane Society and report of what had happened. I would also probably face the wrath of dog lovers everywhere when they found out I had killed a dog because of how he acted towards me. Well, I was willing to face the music. I had to get relief from these dogs who had finally wreaked their revenge on me.
I also decided that when I recovered enough to return home, I was getting a cat.
~To be continued.~