From second grade onward, we lived a block from our inner-city elementary school, with only one dangerous crossing at Sixth Street where my twin brother had an untimely encounter with a pickup truck that chased him down the street, knocked him out cold and then the stupid driver carried him to a lawn on the corner where I caught up with the situation. My brother suffered only a concussion, but that's another story.
Every day when we came home from school, two Pomeranians would charge out of that porch across the lawn and attack us. I purposely carried books home, although I never did any homework, to hold them out in front of me to ward the vicious little monsters off. And I know how vicious Pomeranians can be, since my little Jazz scared the beejebees out of some personal attendants that came to interview. But that's another story.
When we were in our early teens in another town we often traveled out of town by bicycle to fish in a river several miles distant. Many farmers had big dogs that liked to chase cars, and bicycles, even more. We never relied on nasty things like spraying Clorox in chasing dogs' eyes, but managed by pedaling very fast to handily out run even the most aggressive and fast doggies. They soon tired of the chase and returned to guard their territory from the safety of their farmyard.
On one occasion, we were returning home from a fishing trip, already on the concrete of Highway 97 very close to home and staying on the far right side so that cars could get by easily and not hit us. We were single file with me at the front and Roger directly behind me, and Marvin Krall directly behind Roger. Like clockwork, the Pomeranian that always came out from across the street made a mad dash, barking all the way on to the concrete highway that was still wet from a light shower earlier.
As he slid towards my bike at an unnatural speed, the little guy realized his mistake and began backpedaling with his little feet to no avail. His head went right into my spokes (I was speeding to get past him like I always did before) and started rotating with my front wheel. When his neck reached my thin, knifelike fender brace my front fender rotated forward very fast and hit the pavement like an auger without touching the front headlight and bringing my bike to an instant stop as I flew up into the handlebars, Roger struck my bike from behind, and Marvin struck his. A chain reaction collision.
I looked down to see that little guy's head all twisted up in my spokes and thought that I had killed him. But he wiggled free, fell to the pavement. Shook his head, and ran back to the safety of his lawn, still barking. We didn't check on him, just went on home grateful that he didn't seem to be seriously hurt. I had been meaning to get that screw replaced at the top of the fender to keep it in place for some time after stripping it, but had neglected to get to the simple repair. I don't recall ever seeing that dog chase us again.
In the months recovering from the surgery that paralyzed my hands and arms, I often walked down to a neighboring farm where there were 14 kids and numerous animals in the farmyard, so that you had to watch your step. One of the animals there was a small mixed breed with paralyzed rear legs that dragged them around, but was still able to have pups. One day, the eldest, Tom, had invited me up to the farmhouse where all the kids were gathered, I can't remember what for. As I approached Tom's mother, Alice, with the kids all around, I suddenly felt my right leg being lifted behind me, although it didn't hurt. I turned to see the little dog had me by my Achilles tendon and was pulling on me very hard with just her two front legs. Tom soon stopped her and a quick check by pulling down my sock showed only a minor skin on my ankle. The dog showed no aggression after that.
Later, Tom's sister told me that she thought the reason that that dog had grabbed me was that I had gotten too close to Loretta, the last child, who had Down's syndrome. She said that little mother of pups was just trying to protect Loretta from me.
While recovering and even after, I often went to the top of the hill to the farmhouse where my sister and brother-in-law lived. Behind the back porch and next to the well shed, there was a well-worn area with the doghouse where my brother-in-law, Paul's, German Shepherd, Prince, resided, tied to a long chain. His playthings seemed to be rather large rounded river rocks. When nobody was around, I would often approach him and he would come out from his doghouse and let me rub his ears a bit before going inside to see my sister. When Paul found out what I was doing, he cautioned me, telling me that the reason Prince was tied up was because he had been aggressive with people coming into the farmyard.
When I was in California, my friend, Jack Swanson, invited me to join his family at the beach one day. From Redwood City where we lived, it was a steep winding drive up to Skyline Drive, and then another steep winding drive down to the beaches on the other side. For some reason we arrived rather late in the day. It was a cold, windy and foggy day. I don't recall much of our afternoon there except we ate our lunch on concrete picnic tables and that was about it… There was no swimming in the surf.
It was after dark, upon our return, that we reach Skyline Drive, and I had to go… badly. I urged Jack to pull over at a corner filling station with no pumps because that's the only place I saw. Going around the side where the restrooms were, the doors were locked, so I decided to go out back behind the building to pee.
It was very dark out there and as I groped my way some distance from the building in the open I came upon a clothes line that was about chest high. I decided to continue on, so I ducked down under it to continue. In an instant, I heard a snarl and, still crouched down, I saw a German Shepherd come out of the dark directly at my face. All I had time to do was yell something like, "Whaaa!" very loud. Miraculously, she (for some reason I thought it was a female) stopped cold about 6 inches from my face, fangs bared, and backed off. I backed off, too, and suddenly didn't have to pee.
When I returned to the car and tried to explain to Jack, Lois and the kids what had happened, Jack started laughing hysterically, something I didn't appreciate. I guess he would've had to have been in my position… about to get bitten in the face, to have fully understood. I forgave him for it.
While doing my doctoral studies with a friend and fellow doctoral student, Ray Beauregard, he experienced a perforated intestine resulting in two operations. While he was recovering from the first operation, he lived in a basement apartment of a medical doctor's house in a nice neighborhood nearby the medical center. I went to see him and see how he was recovering. The entry door to the basement was at the back side of the house so I went there. I knocked, but no one came to the door. It was slightly open and I feared that Ray was too sick to come to the door, so I pushed it open and entered. The sickening smell of a hospital hit me.
In the dim light of the room, I could see Ray standing by the kitchen counter with his German Shepherd, also Prince, by his side. Suddenly, Prince ran directly toward me and Ray shouted weakly, "No, stop… Stop Prince, no!"
Prince bounded up to me, jumped on my chest, and began licking me in the face. Ray was very sick and needed to go back to the hospital for that second operation, but he was greatly relieved when Prince did not attack me. Ray shook his head. "He's an attack dog. I trained him to attack…" Ray is still alive and well, probably skiing near his home in New Hampshire as I write this.
I never met a dog I didn't like… They reciprocated. These and other stories available on my autobiography, Hanging by a Thread.
