Today I hurt a dog. Anyone who knows me would likely bet their life savings, or at least a decent cup of coffee, that this is a sentence construction never to be uttered by me. To back up a bit, we share our home with a robust, energetic Dutch Shepherd, Best, who loves nothing more than physical activity into which he throws himself at every opportunity with unfettered zeal. This love of his translates into early starts to my day, 4:30 a.m. preferably, so that his needs are met before my workday begins. Now, I don’t altogether hate these pre-dawn constitutionals, as it’s really the only time the neighborhood isn’t humming with runners, bikers, and dog walkers. The illusion of solitude we have, if only briefly, makes the early rise well worth it for me, along with the joy I get watching Best’s happy metronome of a tail as he stalks rabbits and tracks the fresh scents of elk or bobcats.
This morning, just as we made our turn onto a new street, we caught sight of a Husky trotting up ahead. I knew from the hundreds of times we’d passed this unsupervised dog restrained outside a house that he’d slipped his collar. Halting momentarily, I considered what to do: the loose dog was dangerously close to a busy road and could meet a tragic end if someone didn’t intervene; however, not knowing the dog’s temperament I couldn’t safely approach with my own dog without risking an adverse reaction. My ruminations were for naught, because as soon as the Husky caught sight of us, he came at us full tilt. Running was not an option for us. On my best days in my younger years, I would still fail in my attempt to outpace this dog who was clearly intent on a contretemps. I had time only command Best to remain by my side, place myself between him and the oncoming dog, and reach for the pepper spray I carry in a pocket.
Before I was able to extract the spray, the dog had reached us, bitten my outstretched hand and knee, and Best moved to place himself between the Husky and me (yep, he broke command—an issue to be addressed later). That last maneuver was all the Husky needed to shift his attention from me to Best, wasting no time as he bit at Best’s face and side, teeth bared and hackles raised. Yelling “No!” loudly, I blasted the first spray at the dog. There have been several times when off-leash dogs have charged Best, itching for confrontation, and I have sprayed their necks, knowing the proximity of scent to their eyes and noses is often enough to redirect their focus and allow us to move to safety. This time, however, the dog was completely undeterred and continued to bite. I sprayed again, this time directly at the dog’s face. This did the trick; the dog retreated to a grassy spot where he rubbed his face on the ground. The entire encounter lasted less than a minute. In that time the dog’s owner finally emerged from her house, calling more in annoyance than alarm for the dog to “Come back.” Not once was there an apology or an explanation for her dog’s behavior. Or why she would allow a dog whose first instinct was to attack anywhere out of her sight.
Once Best and I were safely down the path I stopped to check him over. He was wet from the Husky’s slobber and was panting, but he was shockingly, blessedly, physically unscathed. My hand was bleeding from the minor bite and my knee would be bruised, but I had escaped any serious injury as well. Once the surge of adrenaline had dissipated, though, I began to think, not for the first time, of the fate we have, too often, of preparing for and protecting ourselves from, the choices of others. Truthfully, it made me angry.
What is more frustrating to me, though, is the reaction some have when they learn about my level of preparedness to protect myself and who I love from the choices people make that risk my life and the lives of those around me. When I walk out the door with Best, no fewer than five times a day, I put on a vest that contains an assortment of accessories: poop bags, kibble, a bear bell, and a multitool. What it also holds is a canister of pepper spray, a fixed-blade knife, and a handgun. The disheartening responses I receive when people discover what the compartments of my vest contain typically sound like, “Oh! I thought you were a teacher and someone who loves people! Why on earth do you carry all that?” or “Ooh, I never knew you had that violent streak in you!” A few have even questioned my professed Christianity, claiming that it is inconsistent with my arming myself for what may come. In response, I say that I believe it is my Christian responsibility to protect my life and body (and those of others), as 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 instructs me, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore, honor God with your bodies.” Further, I don’t know of any animal, human or non-human, whose instinct isn’t to protect itself from harm.
We seem to be living in a time where people feel empowered to make choices with little apparent regard for how they affect others, yet our knee-jerk response to those who take the necessary steps to protect themselves is to villainize them or question their compassion. Never would I, unprovoked, choose to hurt a dog, or anyone else for that matter. That said, knowing that there is no shortage of people who choose to be irresponsible with their dogs or their own behaviors, I will be prepared to keep myself, my dog, and anyone else safe from the poor choices made by those in my world. When I imagine the possible outcome had the loose Husky seen one of the many children who ride their bikes unsupervised through the neighborhood instead of me, I am grateful that it was I and not them who needed to bandage some wounds.
I don’t love carrying an assortment of weapons when I step out the front door, neither am I “looking for a fight” identify as a “gun nut” or advocate that all people carry weapons such as firearms. There is a burden of responsibility that accompanies the owning and carrying of any weapon: storing, carrying, and using them safely are the bare minimum. It would be a relief not to need means by which to protect myself and others. And to carry the guilt of having hurt any living being is something I resent being put in the position of having to do. But as long as we share the world with occupants who can be thoughtless and sometimes downright malicious, I will remain vigilant.
PartWolf 