(Edit: upon re-reading this entry, I realize that I switch verb tenses a couple of times. Usually this makes me crazy, but I'm too lazy to fix it right now.)
Once again, a recap of something that happened a few days back. May 10, 2007.
Perhaps a bit of back history would be worthwhile:
1. Joey is incredible around other people - he couldn't be friendlier, and he's remarkably gentle. He doesn't jump up, he doesn't open his mouth (he's not ven a licker of faces/hands), and he doesn't get overly excited.
Around other dogs, though, he can get a little skittish; his first six years are pretty much a mystery, but we think there may have been competition for food or attention with other dogs, as he gets defensive and a bit growly around them. We're slowly trying to get him used to being around other animals (the eight Friday nights' worth of training classes with other dogs helped), but when we're out walking around the neighborhood, there are LOTS of other dogs, and we tend to keep him a safe distance from them most of the time, just to be safe.
2. His walks, because I'm a sucker who can't keep him on a tight leash, tend to be long and meandering.
3. On this particular Saturday, it had rained heavily all day. Dirt patches became mud puddles, and the grass was slippery.
OK. So Joey and I headed out for our last walk of the day at about 9:45 p.m.
Our usual walking route is a loop around our neighborhood. We had gotten to the side of the loop opposite our apartment, about halfway through the walk, when Joey started sniffing around a bush. Up a short hill, maybe 20 yards from where he was taking in the smells, a door opened to one of the apartments. I don't know the people who live there, but I knew they had a large sized dog, because every time we pass by, that dog barks from the window. In fact, the dog is so aggressive with his barking that the pull-down screen in the window has a giant tear in it where the dog looks out. It's as if someone cut out a silhouette of the dog's head in the blind.
The point being, even though they've never "met", that dog definitely knows who Joey is. And barks at him all the time. I can't tell if it's friendly or not.
What I didn't know was that there was another dog in that apartment, too.
The door to the apartment opens, and a woman heads out and walks to another apartment a few doors down - apparently there was a gathering of some sort taking place. As the door is open, some dude (holding the door open) starts chatting to the woman who's walking to the other apartment, and another woman, perhaps not realizing that Joey and I are slowly moving past their place at the bottom of the hill, has the two dogs' leashes in her hand, preparing to take them out for a walk.
The barking dog, realizing Joey is right there at the bottom of the hill, bolts out the door. The woman, who is perhaps not paying as much attention as she should have been, has him on one of those leashes that feeds out a distance of strap and that can be "locked" to prevent the dog from wandering too far. But she didn't have it locked, because as I see the dog bolting, I can hear the leash unwinding, almost like the line coming off the reel on a fishing pole.
Seeing Barky the Large Sized Dog run, the smaller dog also gets excited and starts to take off. In the corner of my eye, I see her trying to get control of either dog, but she seemed more concerned with the smaller one, allowing the larger one to "take control".
I turned my attention to Joey, who was blissfully unaware of anything going on. There was a bush to be sniffed, darn it. And bushes don't just sniff themselves. At this point, my back is to the doorway, and I'm trying to shorten my leash so I can guide the sometimes-skittish Joey away from the scene.
The next thing I know, the barking dog is inches from Joey's face, and they're about to get nose to nose. I don't want Joey to lunge out or start growling, so I pick him up about three feet off the ground like he's a package. A hairy, soggy, 45-lb. package. I'm used to this, as sometimes carrying him is the only way I can get him to go to his bed. My right arm is over his rear half, with my hand on his belly near his hind legs, and my left arm is cradling him underneath his neck and through his front legs. It sounds uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind, and he's well supported.
By my feet, I see that one of the other dogs' leashes has wrapped around my feet and ankles, and, while still holding Joey - and with my back to the apartment, I start "marching" in place to untangle myself.
Finally, I free myself from the tangle, and Joey is, for the moment, safe from the other dog, because the guy who was at the door has come to take command of its leash.
Note again that it had been raining heavily, and that everything was soaking wet and slick.
Still holding Joey, I turn around and see ...
The woman who had the leashes in her hand at the top of the hill ... at the bottom of the hill. On her hands and knees. Picking herself up off the ground. With a rip in the knee of her pants.
And blood all over her face. Not just a little blood, either. Andrew W.K. blood.
The large dog had bolted with enough force to pull her down the hill, where she had apparently landed face-first, though I didn't see it myself.
The guy asks her if she's OK, and, holding her nose, she replies "I think it's busted."
I start apologizing profusely, and, through her fingers, I could hear her tell me it wasn't my fault, that we didn't do anything wrong (which was, I realize, absolutely true - Joey was just sniffing around a bush and was not confrontational at all). "These fucking dogs!" she tells the guy. "These fucking dogs!"
The fact that the dog bolted because of us, and now this woman had (at best) a bloody nose (I really hope she didn't chip her teeth or something worse) made me feel horrible. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, and maybe they had just concluded a fun evening, or had to trade what was about to be a night out with friends for a trip to the hospital.
I asked if there was anything I could do, and again the response was "it's OK - it's not your fault". I figured I'd just get the hell out of there, rather than make things worse somehow.
Joey, not much worse for wear, knew something had happened because of all the excitement in the air, but when I put him down and started to walk away what did he do?
That's right. He started sniffing the bush again.
He's a weird dog sometimes.
(OK, maybe not quite Andrew W.K. blood - but close. Seriously.)
Once again, a recap of something that happened a few days back. May 10, 2007.
Perhaps a bit of back history would be worthwhile:
1. Joey is incredible around other people - he couldn't be friendlier, and he's remarkably gentle. He doesn't jump up, he doesn't open his mouth (he's not ven a licker of faces/hands), and he doesn't get overly excited.
Around other dogs, though, he can get a little skittish; his first six years are pretty much a mystery, but we think there may have been competition for food or attention with other dogs, as he gets defensive and a bit growly around them. We're slowly trying to get him used to being around other animals (the eight Friday nights' worth of training classes with other dogs helped), but when we're out walking around the neighborhood, there are LOTS of other dogs, and we tend to keep him a safe distance from them most of the time, just to be safe.
2. His walks, because I'm a sucker who can't keep him on a tight leash, tend to be long and meandering.
3. On this particular Saturday, it had rained heavily all day. Dirt patches became mud puddles, and the grass was slippery.
OK. So Joey and I headed out for our last walk of the day at about 9:45 p.m.
Our usual walking route is a loop around our neighborhood. We had gotten to the side of the loop opposite our apartment, about halfway through the walk, when Joey started sniffing around a bush. Up a short hill, maybe 20 yards from where he was taking in the smells, a door opened to one of the apartments. I don't know the people who live there, but I knew they had a large sized dog, because every time we pass by, that dog barks from the window. In fact, the dog is so aggressive with his barking that the pull-down screen in the window has a giant tear in it where the dog looks out. It's as if someone cut out a silhouette of the dog's head in the blind.
The point being, even though they've never "met", that dog definitely knows who Joey is. And barks at him all the time. I can't tell if it's friendly or not.
What I didn't know was that there was another dog in that apartment, too.
The door to the apartment opens, and a woman heads out and walks to another apartment a few doors down - apparently there was a gathering of some sort taking place. As the door is open, some dude (holding the door open) starts chatting to the woman who's walking to the other apartment, and another woman, perhaps not realizing that Joey and I are slowly moving past their place at the bottom of the hill, has the two dogs' leashes in her hand, preparing to take them out for a walk.
The barking dog, realizing Joey is right there at the bottom of the hill, bolts out the door. The woman, who is perhaps not paying as much attention as she should have been, has him on one of those leashes that feeds out a distance of strap and that can be "locked" to prevent the dog from wandering too far. But she didn't have it locked, because as I see the dog bolting, I can hear the leash unwinding, almost like the line coming off the reel on a fishing pole.
Seeing Barky the Large Sized Dog run, the smaller dog also gets excited and starts to take off. In the corner of my eye, I see her trying to get control of either dog, but she seemed more concerned with the smaller one, allowing the larger one to "take control".
I turned my attention to Joey, who was blissfully unaware of anything going on. There was a bush to be sniffed, darn it. And bushes don't just sniff themselves. At this point, my back is to the doorway, and I'm trying to shorten my leash so I can guide the sometimes-skittish Joey away from the scene.
The next thing I know, the barking dog is inches from Joey's face, and they're about to get nose to nose. I don't want Joey to lunge out or start growling, so I pick him up about three feet off the ground like he's a package. A hairy, soggy, 45-lb. package. I'm used to this, as sometimes carrying him is the only way I can get him to go to his bed. My right arm is over his rear half, with my hand on his belly near his hind legs, and my left arm is cradling him underneath his neck and through his front legs. It sounds uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind, and he's well supported.
By my feet, I see that one of the other dogs' leashes has wrapped around my feet and ankles, and, while still holding Joey - and with my back to the apartment, I start "marching" in place to untangle myself.
Finally, I free myself from the tangle, and Joey is, for the moment, safe from the other dog, because the guy who was at the door has come to take command of its leash.
Note again that it had been raining heavily, and that everything was soaking wet and slick.
Still holding Joey, I turn around and see ...
The woman who had the leashes in her hand at the top of the hill ... at the bottom of the hill. On her hands and knees. Picking herself up off the ground. With a rip in the knee of her pants.
And blood all over her face. Not just a little blood, either. Andrew W.K. blood.
The large dog had bolted with enough force to pull her down the hill, where she had apparently landed face-first, though I didn't see it myself.
The guy asks her if she's OK, and, holding her nose, she replies "I think it's busted."
I start apologizing profusely, and, through her fingers, I could hear her tell me it wasn't my fault, that we didn't do anything wrong (which was, I realize, absolutely true - Joey was just sniffing around a bush and was not confrontational at all). "These fucking dogs!" she tells the guy. "These fucking dogs!"
The fact that the dog bolted because of us, and now this woman had (at best) a bloody nose (I really hope she didn't chip her teeth or something worse) made me feel horrible. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, and maybe they had just concluded a fun evening, or had to trade what was about to be a night out with friends for a trip to the hospital.
I asked if there was anything I could do, and again the response was "it's OK - it's not your fault". I figured I'd just get the hell out of there, rather than make things worse somehow.
Joey, not much worse for wear, knew something had happened because of all the excitement in the air, but when I put him down and started to walk away what did he do?
That's right. He started sniffing the bush again.
He's a weird dog sometimes.
(OK, maybe not quite Andrew W.K. blood - but close. Seriously.)
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