Yesterday I had one of the scariest moments of my life. Not to be overly dramatic, but it was terrifying!
A few important notes for context. I love my dog Zoe. Love her. It is an unexpected love. But it is mutual and heartfelt. Zoe follows me everywhere. She is my biggest fan. She wants nothing more than to bask in my presence. She cries when I leave, particularly if I’m going on a run. And she is SO EXCITED to see me every time I return. I love her too. Her big brown eyes are so soulful and I love her devotion. I even wrote a loving blog about her. And a blog about how poorly trained she is. But still.
Next. Let’s talk about fears. Probably my second fear growing up (only behind an aggressive house fire – I was traumatized by the stagecoach fire on Little House on the Prairie. True story) was being attacked by a dog. I lived in a rural setting and as I got older, I frequently went for long runs on deserted country roads. Often I would be with my running team, but sometimes I would be solo. On these country roads, there were often angry dogs. You know, the stereotypical dangerous kind (pit bulls, Doberman’s and the like). In the country, these dogs weren’t indoor dogs or even contained within fences. They would sometimes chase you as you ran by. Every now and then you would see one on a chain who would go ballistic. I was always terrified one of those chains would break. I was always on guard, would often switch sides of the road to avoid certain homes, and if necessary, carry a hand full of rocks ready to use for pelting. Not a full proof plan, and thankfully never needed.
So here’s what happened yesterday. I had gone for a morning run, half asleep, but racking up mileage. After I got home, I grabbed Zoe (she is a terrible running partner) to take her out and we went for a short walk. As I was crossing the street to my house, I look up and see a sweet little boy. About 8 years old. He is running fast trying to hold onto a dog that is sprinting toward us. My first thought was concern for the boy – he was barely holding on and it looked like he could be drug at any moment. Then I realize the big black dog he is holding onto is barreling toward Zoe and I.
Before I could even react, the mean dog jumps on Zoe’s back and sinks her teeth into her back. Zoe is yelping and crying and wriggling trying to shake the mean dog.
I can’t even believe what has just happened. We live in the city. On a suburban street. There are not dog attacks here. I wasn’t on guard. Not prepared at all.
But I react and start yelling, “NO, NO, NO!!” and then, unsure what to do, I kick the mean dog in the side. All along, I’m terrified Zoe is being torn to shreds. I’m worried the dog could turn on the little boy – or me – next. And I have no idea what to do.
Thankfully, very quickly (it’s so hard to tell in these situations – for sure less than a minute), a tall, teenage boy that was walking by on the sidewalk somehow pulled the mean dog off Zoe. I love him. He is my hero. I have no idea who he is or where he went, but I love him. The owners (who live across the street and one house over) come running up and take their dog.
I am freaking out! I am trying to look at Zoe but she is pulling toward our house, desperate to escape. I run inside with her and look for how badly she is hurt. Somehow, she is not bleeding – the dog must have just latched on to her enough to hurt, but not shred her. She is terrified and I’m hugging her – and then I am SO furious.
I went back outside and went a bit nuts on the owners. The dog is clearly dangerous. Attacked Zoe completely unprovoked and bee-lined for her. On our street there are many small children. Who often walk dogs. And I often have my youngest child with me. Or my older two kids will walk Zoe. The situation could have been so much worse.
They promised me the mean dog would be sent away to grandma’s house in the country. I threatened to call animal control if I ever see the dog again. It has no place on a street like this in a city, surrounded by small children. The house has a revolving door of occupants in some kind of shared living arrangement and the owner was appalled. They were all shocked that the dog attacked.
This is our rental house, of course. And now I really can’t wait for the 2 months to fly by and we leave this street for our real home. We’re literally about 200 meters outside our real neighborhood and it’s a fine area. But I am shaken by that crazy, mean dog and the nutty neighbors.
I don’t have a real message for this blog other than gratitude that my sweet Zoe is OK. And, really, in this world, you always have to keep your eyes open, ready to defend those you love.
The Redefining 
Your love for Zoe makes her the luckiest “Derson” around. I love this story. So happy Zoe is OK!
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