Alone in the Pack
I was midway through this morning's run when I stopped at a hillside park to get a drink from the water fountain. I saw a group of dogs sprint from their elder owners toward me. Initially, I thought nothing of it because it's a public park and surely these people wouldn't allow vicious animals to run loose.
But, you see, dogs behave differently in packs. Especially when a heavy-breathing, sweaty stranger enters their realm.
One dog in particular named Charlie seemed to lead the charge and next thing I know I was surrounded by a couple of labs and three mixed breeds, none wagging tails and Charlie bearing teeth. Two were younger and didn't seem to know quite what to do or where to go, but they were mesmerized by Charlie's territorialism -- so was I.
I tried to walk but the pack just tightened in on me. So I looked up, pretending not to be scared and could tell the group of five people were realizing this wasn't a friendly encounter. That's how I know the alpha was named Charlie; his owner kept telling him to come back. These were senior citizens, and so they perhaps took longer to reach me because of their limited mobility. And when they did Charlie's owner apologized and I said it's okay. "Dogs will be dogs," were my exact words as I took off.
In my many years of running, I've been attacked by dogs. The most interesting part is, with one exception, the owners have all been present. One little gal in North Carolina ran at me from a driveway one Saturday morning and just tore into my leg. It took months to heal. Her owner had been in the driveway washing his car. Another startled Mastiff tried to take a chunk of my butt; I later learned the beast lived two houses down from the assault after getting a rabies shot.
Have you ever gotten a rabies shot? They are most unpleasant. So are people who are convinced their animal would never hurt someone. That was once me, and one of the saddest stories of my life involved our dog Reggie, secured in our yard, and a little boy no one was watching.
I don't think the dogs I met today are mean. For all I know, Charlie is 12 in human years and his old brain is demented. I do know the puppies in that pack were smart. When the owner yelled at Charlie, they were the first to respond to his command and distance themselves from a tense situation.
But, you see, dogs behave differently in packs. Especially when a heavy-breathing, sweaty stranger enters their realm.
One dog in particular named Charlie seemed to lead the charge and next thing I know I was surrounded by a couple of labs and three mixed breeds, none wagging tails and Charlie bearing teeth. Two were younger and didn't seem to know quite what to do or where to go, but they were mesmerized by Charlie's territorialism -- so was I.
I tried to walk but the pack just tightened in on me. So I looked up, pretending not to be scared and could tell the group of five people were realizing this wasn't a friendly encounter. That's how I know the alpha was named Charlie; his owner kept telling him to come back. These were senior citizens, and so they perhaps took longer to reach me because of their limited mobility. And when they did Charlie's owner apologized and I said it's okay. "Dogs will be dogs," were my exact words as I took off.
In my many years of running, I've been attacked by dogs. The most interesting part is, with one exception, the owners have all been present. One little gal in North Carolina ran at me from a driveway one Saturday morning and just tore into my leg. It took months to heal. Her owner had been in the driveway washing his car. Another startled Mastiff tried to take a chunk of my butt; I later learned the beast lived two houses down from the assault after getting a rabies shot.
Have you ever gotten a rabies shot? They are most unpleasant. So are people who are convinced their animal would never hurt someone. That was once me, and one of the saddest stories of my life involved our dog Reggie, secured in our yard, and a little boy no one was watching.
I don't think the dogs I met today are mean. For all I know, Charlie is 12 in human years and his old brain is demented. I do know the puppies in that pack were smart. When the owner yelled at Charlie, they were the first to respond to his command and distance themselves from a tense situation.
