So it was around 8:20 on a Monday night, and I was just finishing up a 5k run in the midst of townhouses, when a spawn of Satan comes out of now where and starts to pursue me. Yes, I was attacked by a mixed Pitbull breed. It was awful.
I pin myself against a light-post, and the dog comes beside me and lunges at my leg. I feel pain. But mostly I feel terrified. In the corner of my eye I see a young teenage boy on his knees--crying and pleading for his dog to STOP! But instead of stopping, the dog continues to try and attack. Circling behind, jumping on my back. I try my best to defend myself, trying to get space between us as I continually spin to face the dog.
The dog lunges a few more time, and a few more times I feel pain.
The young teenage boy is still screaming and crying.
Finally, me and the dog circle and face each other one last time with enough space between us in order for the boy to get his dog. No, correction, I'm able to back up, and while doing so I yell, "GET. YOUR. DOG!!"
The boy responds, "I can't!"
I yell, "YES. YOU. CAN."
And he does. Almost laying on top of him. That ends one of the most terrifying 10 seconds of my life.
I back away, and look down seeing blood down my leg. I say a few swear words, including a big, "SH*T!" and lastly, "GOD-DAMN-ALL-HELL!" (Because I read a lot of 19th century novels, therefore I swear as if I'm in one, apparently.)
Two men from two different townhouses notice I'm there, and ask if I'm okay. I reply yes, and then look up to see the boy struggling with his dog, and crying. I asked, "Is he up on his shots?" and the boy replies with a strangled, "Yes."
I start to limp home, and one of the men ask if I need a ride. I say, "No, I really just live around the corner." He wants to walk me home, but I insist that I'm okay. I might have even said, "I think I'm probably is shock."
I get out my phone and call Matt. He answers with a lovely, "Yyyyess?" And then I burst into tears, "I got attacked! By a dog!"
Matt rushes out to the mailboxes to help me limp home. He is ticked, and I'm a complete mess. Any composure I had 5 seconds before is completely gone. Just tears and snot and hysterical breathing.
Once I get settled in the house, Matt gets the first aid kit and begins to work his magic. Being a combat veteran has its benefits, like working with injury under pressure. I finally get my breathing and self under control, and call a friend asking what I should do. I don't know about dogs and bites, but I figured this friend would. And she does, and has a few suggestions on how to deal with it.
I then call my dad, since he can handle anything under any distress. I'm not sure I've ever seen him freak out. (There was this one time when a tornado was practically on top of us, and he was like, "Hmmm… Maybe we should go to the shelter?") He suggests going to see my doctor the following day, and at the same time my friend arrives to give support.
We end up calling the police to file a report, and the officer comes over promptly. My testimony is given, and pictures are taken.
My wounds are as such:
a nice bite on my left leg, about my left knee, to the left. 3 deep puncture wounds.
a bruised bite on my back.
scratches down my bum (pictures not taken of those, haha)
….. THE NEXT DAY…..
I don't sleep well that night. I wake up reliving it over and over again. In the morning there's dried blood all over the sheets, and I'm slightly terrified to go outside.
So. I'm able to get an early doctor's appointment, and Matt is even able to come with me. The nurse and doctor both agree that I should have gone to the ER the night before. She doesn't close the wounds, since it had been over 8 hours since the incident.
Heavy duty antibiotics are prescribed, and I get my tetanus booster shot.
I then head onto the military base to go to the Urgent Care of the ER to get my first round of rabies shots.
In all, I get 9 shots in one day. Owie.
I decide that I need to go on another run that evening. I need to get outdoors so that the fear I was feeling earlier in the day won't set a pattern for the rest of my days. So I do it. I run. And it hurts. Kind of emotionally and physically. I was actually surprised how earth shattering that attack was. So getting out and running did a lot of my personal morale. VICTORY!
At the end of the run the officer from the night before calls me and says, "I found the owner, and he's really cooperative." (I was actually really surprised to get the call 1), figuring it wasn't that big of deal to the police department, and 2) that the owners would be cooperative… I guess I thought they would be in hiding, haha.) We discuss the case, that I don't want to press charges, but what preventative measures the owner has agreed to. Muzzle, no child ever walking the dog again, etc. Sounds so good!
That evening, when I'm bringing in groceries and Matt's rounding up the kids and neighborhood kids, a truck meanders towards us. It stops, and the people driving ask if I'm Shannon.
They are the owners, and we talk about everything that happened, and how their son is doing. Because seriously, I worry and worry about that boy. He witnessed something hard, and I know he felt a lot of responsibility. That's a heavy weight to hold on those young shoulders. They say he's doing fine, just worried about being in trouble. And I hope that's true…. He didn't seem well that night.
….. IN CONCLUSION…..
I get the shot record of the dog, but I still continue to get the rabies shots. Just for my own peace of mind.
There has been a filed record of the dog attack and bite with the military base.
Also, an old man from Georgia's Animal Control came over, took my testimony, and had me fill out some paper work. It's now in the State of Georgia's hands. Phew!
I have been having feelings of anger towards the incident, which surprises me. Those are stages of grief and acceptance, I guess. I really need to get the anger out of my system. THIS IS NOT HOW I WANT MY DECEMBER TO START!
I remember a talk from President Gordon B. Hinckley from like 2005. I listen to it once. Then once more. (click HERE to take a listen. He's so wonderful. Miss that man.)
And then I make cookies and take them over to the people with the dog. We're able to talk everything over once more, and I'm able to meet the young man for the first time. He was able to say, "I'm sorry," and I was able to say, "You know, it's really okay!" It brings a lot of closure. And I hope it does for him, too.
I'm still on antibiotics, and will be for another 4 days. 10 days total. I'm still taking lots of ibuprofen, cause it's a nice big bruise where the tissue is used a lot. And I'm still running. Have a total of 23 miles this week!
