The animal control officer was very nice and even gently told me to calm down as I ventured off into “I hope I don’t have to sue them” land.  Just the facts ma’am.  I am writing this mostly to get it off my chest and clear it all out of my brain so that I don’t have to re-run it in my head all day, as I did yesterday.

It was a dark and stormy night.  No wait.  It was a gorgeous, pristine January day in San Clemente.  I was walking with Ed the Dog. I have two routes – one that takes me to a street in the neighborhood that does not have homes on it.  When you get to the top of the hill on that street you can look one direction and see mountains (now with snow) and turn 90 degrees and see the ocean.

At the end of that street, just before I take the right turn to head for home, there is a yard with security fencing.  Old security fencing apparently.  I am aware that behind that fence are two crazy vicious German Shepherds (disclaimer: I love all dogs.  I know that some breeds are more easily turned into assholes than others.  Shepherds are one of those breeds. I have known and loved several Shepherds in my life.)  But let me repeat.  Crazy vicious.

“Why would I walk past there, then?”  Blame the Victim Mary  asks.  Well, because I should be able to walk on a public street on a public sidewalk with my dog on a six foot leash and enjoy the beautiful view.  “Why not walk on the other side of the street, then?” Blame the Victim Mary asks.  Well, because there is no sidewalk on the other side of the street and also see the answer to the last question.

I always hang on to Ed the Dog and walk quickly past that house even when he is aching to go over and say “hello.”  Yes, Ed loves other dogs – the two huge Dobermans next door who scrap with him in a friendly dog play manner and my walking pal’s new puppy who pulls at Ed’s floppy boxer flews as if they were doggie toys.  Walking past that house is the only bad thing about taking that route – two minutes of stress in an otherwise lovely walk.

Yesterday it turned into more than two minutes of stress.  Hell, I’m STILL stressed.  It appeared that the dogs were inside because they didn’t come tearing at us as usual.  Then, out of nowhere, I heard it come to the fence.  My guard was down for just the time it took for Ed to venture (on his short lead) from the sidewalk across the three feet to the fence to say hello.  Only this time I wasn’t able to yank on his leash for him to heel and keep walking fast enough.  The fence post was loose.  The other dog pushed his snout through the loose fencing an grabbed Ed’s face, and not in a nice puppy-playing-with-flews way.  He was latched on for the long haul.

It was nothing less than terrifying.  Ed was howling, I was screaming.  Again, no houses on this street.  I thought I was going to watch my dog die in front of me.  I started screaming for help.  I did not want to get closer to give the leash enough slack for the other dog to be able to grab more of Ed.  I did not want to pull the leash lest Ed’s face get more injured in a tug of war between a Shepherd’s powerful jaw and me.   Fortunately, a car came around the bend and saw my distress.  Two women hopped out of the car.  One ran to the front of the house (around the corner) and although she was terrified herself by the beware of dog sign, ran quickly up, knocked on the door and ran back to the street, where she yelled to the owners to get their dog.  The other woman started to try to separate them but at that moment the owner yelled “Let it go!” and the shepherd immediately unlatched.  At least it is well trained in THAT regard.

Ed, bless his heart, bleeding from who knew where, came over to me as if it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, tail wagging and happy to be free.  God I love this dog.  Not an evil bone in his body.

One of the women recommended I call 911 and I thought that would be a good idea, but as I was beginning my explanation to the dispatcher I heard the words I still cannot believe, from the owner:  “What was your dog doing on our side of the fence?”  I wanted to jump over the fence myself, but I kept trying to explain to the dispatcher, who wanted an address (again, empty street) but also wanted to know if I was arguing with the owner (in which case police would be sent) or if I wanted to report the dog attack (in which case I needed animal control).  Well, a little bit of both but the other woman was tearing a new one on the owner, so I opted for animal control.  The whole neighborhood knows about these dogs and as my rescuer told me as she was driving me home, she doesn’t walk that way anymore.

“Gosh, Mary, why do you walk that way?” Blame the Victim Mary asked. See above.

I did not realize the dispatcher was calling animal control, so I went home, told Al what happened, called the vet to make sure they were open, got back in the car, drove back to scene of the crime to take picture of their address.  Leaving the scene of the crime I saw animal control driving up, stopped and gave him the story.  He took photos of the broken fence (complete with Ed’s blood), told me the owners were liable for any damages, sent me off to the vet (say “hi” to Dr. Pat for me…) and went to confront the owners.  I will not get a report until probably Tuesday.

At the vet, Dr. Pat explained how even though it didn’t look like much, there was air under his lacerated skin, where the skin had been pulled away from the muscle  and this could get abscessed.  Needed to put in a drain to allow fluids and air and whatever to escape.  Bruising all down Ed’s neck, didn’t appear trachea had been punctured because he was breathing ok but keep an eye. Sedation, antibiotics, antiinflammatory, pain meds, a Cone of Shame, rabies booster.  $550 later and that doesn’t include return visits.

It is now the next day.  Between Al being sick and Ed intermittently crying, I slept in the guest room with Ed to make sure he’d be okay.  He was, but woke up wanting to scratch the drain.  Back on with the Cone of Shame.

Now the fun part comes.  Approaching the owners to hand them the vet bill – owners who came out and wanted to know why my dog was on their side of the fence.  Well, actually he wasn’t, UNTIL YOUR DOG GRABBED HIS FACE AND PULLED HIM THROUGH.

I am honestly praying that they will do the right thing and pay the bill. I don’t want to further this, never do.  I have lost probably millions just getting car repair bills paid by a taxi company when I was broadsided with my three year old and new infant in the car. (I had to go to small claims court for that one).  In retrospect….

However, this time, I will not back down.  If they don’t pay this bill, I’m going to follow through until everyone in the neighborhood can walk up that street without being terrorized. I know, first world problems, but here I am in the first world. Bloom where I’m planted.

Ed the Dog is next to me on the couch, snuggled tight against me, snoring, having finally gotten comfortable with the Cone of Shame.  He’s such a blessed dog, sweetest dog I’ve ever had. Finally, after the anger has subsided, it just breaks my heart that such a sweet, loving, trusting, get-along-with-everyone  ten year old dog should have to be in pain due to irresponsible paranoid guard dog owners.

Fortunately he’s one tough cookie.  He was rescued, after all, from somewhere down here in SoCal – last known vet was in Hollywood.  He’ll get over it.  Not sure I will.  I’ll be heading back over there today to take my own photos of the blood and see if that dog is still running “free.”  Just in case I find myself on The People’s Court…

God, I hope not.