I love dogs. And by and large, dogs love me. But I found one this morning that didn’t. A bulldog from French extraction, as best I could tell, who shared a leash with another canine of similar lineage. The two dogs walked briskly alongside their master, who was also pushing a stroller, which I assume carried a smaller version of himself.
We approached each other on the skinniest part of the walking path down by the bay, where hedges on either side forced us much closer together than we would have otherwise been. I made as much room as I could for the dogs and the stroller and the man to pass, but the Frenchie objected to my presence and expressed his displeasure by sinking his teeth into my leg.
A couple of things worth noting. First of all, it didn’t feel like a bite. More like a pinch or a sting. Secondly, the dog’s teeth didn’t tear my sweatpants, so when I pulled up my pant leg to inspect the damage, I was surprised to see the blood flowing down my calf. Thirdly, and most interestingly, was my exchange with the dog owner.
“Oh crap,” he said. “Did he get you, Mike?”
“Yeah, he got me.”
“Oh no! You’re bleeding!”
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I assume he’s had his shots?”
“Absolutely,” said the man. “I just got him from a shelter.”
“Hey, that’s great,” I said. “I really don’t understand why more dog lovers don’t go that route. I’ve had shelter dogs all my life.”
“Me too!” said the man. “You really can’t beat a shelter dog!”
With that, we wished each other a nice day and continued on in opposite directions. But now, fours hour later, I’m back home, and struck by the way I tried to minimize the incident. I had done nothing wrong, and yet, I felt guilty for putting my leg in the way of the animal’s teeth. What’s up with that?
Maybe it’s because I’m empathetic? I know how terrible I’d feel if the roles had been reversed, so maybe I just wanted to demonstrate my compassionate nature by being especially magnanimous, even as the blood ran into my socks. Or maybe I’m just vain? Clearly, the man recognized me from television, and I do have a public image to consider. The last thing I need is a story going around the neighborhood about how the Dirty Jobs guy freaked out over a little nip from a shelter dog who was just trying to adjust to its new surroundings.
Whatever the reason, I downplayed the whole thing, and I’m still not sure why. Even now, as the puncture wound continues to ooze and bleed through multiple bandages, I keep telling myself that shelter dogs really are the best, and that the people who adopt them are far more enlightened than those who don’t.
That skinny little trail, on the other hand? The one with the pretty hedges on either side that runs along the bay. That thing is a public hazard and should probably be paved over…