Dog Attack

For the last five years, I’ve walked the neighborhood with Zoe almost every morning–sometimes multiple times a day. She’s a focused dog and walked on a short leash at my side. Even when other dogs bark at us from behind fences or windows, she tenses but very rarely reacts. I’ve imagined multiple scenarios in my head about what I would do if another dog (or mountain lion) attacked us, but I’ve never had to put those plans into action–until today.

Saturday walks can be longer because we don’t have to rush to get to work. This morning, we headed out for the big-loop walk through the neighborhood and back on some larger roads. At the corner of McMillan and Five Mile (just over a mile from my house), I glanced over to see a large scruffy dog staring at us through the window of a car at a red light. I remember thinking, “That’s a big dog, I’m glad it’s not barking at us.” Putting up with barking dogs from cars is not uncommon, but it is unpleasant. A few steps later, I heard a commotion and glanced back to see the dog scrambling out of the (mostly shut) car window.

What happened next only took seconds. The adrenaline rush pushed me to see things in slow motion. The dog fell from the car window and leaped toward us–taking only a few bounds to close the distance–growling, barking, and snapping at the air. Zoe tensed, and I only had time to turn toward the dog, crouch slightly, and put out my hands in (what I hoped was) a calming and protective gesture. The dog lunged past my hands at Zoe, barely missing her. I grabbed at the dog’s neck, found the harness and heaved the dog sideways into the grass. It pulled free from its harness and lunged again–and I couldn’t tell if it was at me or Zoe. It missed my hand and I grabbed at its neck again, pinning it’s head to the ground as its back legs kicked wildly. Before I could pin the dog completely, the owner appeared and picked up the large dog–who snapped at my hand again.

I don’t know what the owner said as he picked up the harness and fled back to his car–door ajar, engine, running, and at a green light. My mind went into “damage assessment” mode and I patted my own hands and arms to check for bites–I had saliva on them but no broken skin. I checked Zoe–who was trembling but appeared uninjured at my side. I was still on my knees in the grass. I heard a distant, “You good?” and I gave a bewildered thumbs up. Then he drove off.

I stood up and took off my coat–I was overheated from the adrenaline. I hit play on my audio book and continued my walk for half a block before I recognized that I wasn’t processing the audio book at all, so I stopped it and walked home in silence. Once home, I checked Zoe again, washed my hands, and told Becca the story. The adrenaline crash hit me hard and I shook and wept.

This afternoon, I reported the incident to animal control. I didn’t have any information about the owner, the dog, or even the car–it all happened so fast. If this had happened to anyone else–like the woman I passed with a dog and a stroller or the other elderly man jogging with his dog, I fear there would have been serious injuries. Zoe and I are both very lucky to have escaped shaken but unscathed.

If you know someone who has a large violent dog with an orange harness whose owner drives a black car, it’s not a safe dog to have around humans or animals.