Don't give our dog a bone....

Growing up, my family lived at the end of fairly secluded road. By design, my parents bought the land and built the house to have few neighbors. The benefit of this to them was privacy. The drawback for me was no “real” neighborhood. We did have a large turnaround at the end of the road past our house so every so often, a wayward car would end on the wrong destination and traverse by our home.

One Sunday afternoon when I was a youngster, an unknown car drove down our road. Unlike normal occasions, this car didn’t leave. After about thirty minutes, my Father, the constant policeman, decided to investigate. As he exited our front door, one of our smaller dogs ran out. Ironically, the trajectory of this small dog, was in direct route to the car that had begin to move from its parked location. The car ran over our dog. The yelp alerted my Mom, who also ran out of the front door with our two Airedale Terriers in tow.

Upon hitting the dog, the car stopped and the driver got out of the car. As he went to pick up our small dog, Chewie, our older Airedale bit him right in his arse. As he dropped our small dog, his hands flew behind him to protect his wound. At which point, our Airedale bit him again. In the crotch. All of this being witnessed by my parents. As they mentally assessed the potential life-altering damage to the driver’s manly parts; they also realized that not only would our dog be put down for this but the man would likely sue us and win.

So in the middle of the wild racket of barking, attacking, and loud yelping by both dog and man, my Father said he would call 911. All surprise on my parents when the man, holding both front and back parts, declines. My Father stresses to him the potential risk of this type of injury and the need for medical care. They offer to drive him to the hospital. The man again declines. My parents at least get his information, which he was reluctant to share, before he gets back in the car with his wife and drives away.

Days later do my parents discover the reason for the man’s refusal of transportation and/or medical care. He and his wife sought follow up treatment after the incident. His wife: not the same woman in the car with him.

What kind of sign is that when you are parked for a thirty minute interval on a lonely, secluded street with a female companion someone NOT your wife and through a small turn of events, a large Airedale with a scissor bite gives you a chomp in your biscuit AND your ding dong?

I believe it was a warning he took very, very seriously. Karma…she’s always on her toes.