A guest post from Lisa.

One of the caregivers that recently came to the house wrote a guest post for the blog.

Here it is:

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A tale about three dog bites.

The first was many years ago, when I was just seven years old. A close neighbour lived just around the corner and practically every day I would go and play with the daughter who was just about my age.

The family included an Australian Shepard named Tipsy. It was my habit to give Tipsy a big hug around her neck each day when I arrived. Then I gave Tipsy another hug before I left to go home. This went on for many months and I was very fond of Tipsy.

Then one day, just as I was getting ready to leave, something strange, and upsetting, happened.

My friend had gone inside the home and I was heading to the gate and, as usual, I went to give Tipsy her hug around her neck.

I turned for the gate.

Tipsy without any warning hit me from behind and immediately knocked me down. Then Tipsy used her paws to roll me over.

With a face contorted in anger she attacked me. Tipsy then vigorously mauled my face and head. Then just as suddenly she stopped.

I remember then most clearly Tipsy’s entire face changing to a look of shame and remorse. She proceeded to lick all my wounds clean, and then laid down and put her head on my chest. Tipsy then stayed with me until the door of her home opened at which point she ran to hide in the corner of the yard.

Even at that young age I understood that Tipsy had not wanted to hurt me. I was convinced then, and still am, that somehow me hugging Tipsy had caused her pain resulting in the attack.

It took two plastic surgeons three hours and 136 stitches to rebuild my face.

But I was convinced that the incident was my fault and not Tipsy’s. I felt no fear or anger, only sadness and compassion for what I had done.

The second bite.

This happened thirty-five years later when I was forty-two.

My great love for dogs led me into a career in dog grooming.

I was running a grooming business from my home in Guadalajara in Mexico.

On this particular day I had only one appointment. It was a new client who came with a big Old English Sheepdog. He was very sweet and well behaved but he was badly matted so I shaved him before giving him a bath. Afterwards I brought him over to the grooming table. He was soaking wet and to my discredit I forgot to down a towel for him and me to stand on. As I said, he was very well behaved and let me lift his front feet onto the table. Unfortunately, when I started to life his hind quarters my feet slipped on the wet floor and I fell with my full weight across his extended spine.

In the dog’s surprise, and pain, he turned towards me and took one single snap at me.

It was not my lucky day because that snap broke two of my teeth and perforated my lower lip in two places.

When the dog saw that I was bleeding he let out a mournful whine and lent his forehead against my hip as an apology.

I could not stop the bleeding, and could barely speak enough to call a cab. A friend helped me explain to the cabbie that I needed to go to the hospital. The friend also called the owner of the dog to have him picked up, still very wet and with the grooming unfinished.

Again, at the hospital, it took twenty-five stitches to close up the two wounds, and all I could think of was how bad I felt for that sweet Old English Sheepdog.

The Third Bite.

I am now fifty-five years old.

I had taken on a 130-pound Cane Corso Mastiff who, as a puppy, had been attacked and traumatised by an aggressive adult dog.

I put him through a boarding and training program, costing $4,000, in an attempt to socialise him. He did very well at the training facility and it appeared that his fear issues were starting to come under control.

My son has a very sweet and submissive nine-year-old American bulldog. It was decided to try a weekend visit to see how my Mastiff would behave in a real-world setting. We allowed the dogs to socialise but they were supervised at various times over the next two days. Then on the last night of my visit my Mastiff attacked my son’s bulldog.

I grabbed the Mastiff and forced him to let go of my son’s dog. I then began pushing him out of the back door. He was fighting to get at my son’s bulldog and I was in between them.

Then I felt pressure on my calf. One moment of extreme pressure and then a release. I am not sure which dog bit me but I am certain that neither one was attacking me. My instinct was that each dog was trying to protect me from the other one.

Either way it was another twenty-five more stitches and six weeks rehabilitation for my leg.

Conclusion.

In thirty-five years as a groomer and these three dog bites, it is my opinion what when a dog bites a human it is almost never the dog’s fault!

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Only way to finish this post from Lisa is with a photo, of a dog!

Photo by Kieran White on Unsplash

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