Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Bite me

Last night I was on my way to class at the Weber State satellite campus in Layton.  I was running a bit late because the bus driver decided to create her own route through the suburban blight that is Davis County rather than take the freeway.  When she finally dropped me off at Layton Hills Mall I had twelve minutes to get to class, almost two miles away. 



I decided to take my shortcut.  It involves cutting through somebody’s yard, has lots of goat heads, and takes me through an open field on a crudely constructed gravel path.  Come to think of it, it’s ideal cyclocross terrain, and since I have been commuting on my ‘cross bike lately, it seemed like an appropriate thing to do. 



I have never seen anyone on this shortcut.  Ever.  So you can imagine my surprise when I came to the gravel trail and saw a couple out for an evening walk, followed not-so-closely by a large, unleashed, German Shepard. 



I approached with some caution.  The dog (I would later learn his name is Brooks and that he weighs in at a lean 119 lbs.) was taking a whiz as I got close.  Then he stood on the trail in front of me.  I moved right.  He stood his ground.  I thought I was past him. 



Then he bit me. 



I shouted.  I swore.  The couple, only now learning I was behind them, ran to their dog.  “He bit me.” I said.  The man had Brooks by the collar before he could strike again. 



Adrenaline surged through my veins.  I was incoherent.  I stood there, unsure what to do.  Slowly I realized I wouldn’t be making it to my class on time.  I pulled up my torn pant leg.  Blood was running toward my sock.  The pain was…conspicuously absent. 



The woman offered to drive me to the Insta-Care Clinic.  I accepted.  They assured me Brooks was current on all of his shots as we walked back the way I had just come, though the goat heads, through the yard, to their house. 



Bite_wound



After waiting over an hour at the Insta-Care, and realizing there is nothing instant about it, the doctor cleaned me up and told me he doesn’t normally stitch up bite wounds because it risks sealing in infectious bacteria.  Then he poked his tweezers into the lowest of the puncture wounds, the one made by Brooks' sharp Canine tooth.  It didn’t stop until it was in half an inch.  The Doc reached for the stitches. 



He asked me if the dog had his shots.  “I don’t know,” I said, “his owners are sitting in the lobby, maybe you should ask them.”  He asked me when my last tetanus shot was, which I couldn’t remember, so he suggested I get another one. 



Remembering how shots always make my arm sore, I asked the Doc to shoot it in my calf, right by the bite.  “That leg’s going to be sore tomorrow anyway” I pleaded.  He didn’t oblige. 



So now, not only do I have a nagging sore calf muscle on my right leg, from last week’s racing mishap, I now have a  matching sore left calf muscle, a sore left arm from the tetanus shot, and an appointment in eight days to get my single stitch removed.  If you see me, you’ll please understand why I appear overly concerned with protecting my right arm. 



5 comments:

  1. You've inspired me to write my own dog attack post.

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  2. Yeah, I've never been a huge fan of dogs. My little sister was bitten by a neighbor's dog when we were kids and I've been nervous around them ever since.
    You're not racing Sea Otter are you?

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  3. It is amazing that the owners actually ponied up and took responsibility for their pooch. Yes, while being hasty in my generalization, I would have expected them to conjure up some reason why it was your fault for provoking the critter. They drove you to the nearlyinstantcare and hung out while you were being stitched – respectable.

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  4. Sorry about the calf - sweet photo! Send the photo to usa cycling and that should push them over the top to give you the semi-pro.

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  5. Fish is right, reading your post made me want to sock you in the right shoulder...
    Just kidding. So one of the benefits of riding tandems is that the guy in the back has time to aim properly while discharging a can of puppy mace.

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