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.~