The reputation of one of my favorite towns has been tainted. I was able to overlook the arsonist and the incredibly obnoxious parking situation. But not this. This latest incident strikes an irrational fear in my heart; one not easily dismissed. Dog death.
Last week a woman was walking her puppy along a very familiar road, presumably minding her own business. She and her dog were not on private property, not on someone’s lawn, neither of them were peeing in someone’s bushes. They had a right of way sidewalk to travel on and that’s where IT happened. Out of nowhere an older, obviously more aggressive dog came charging out at them. In a matter of minutes he had the puppy in his jaws and was shaking the life out of it. From all accounts the incident happened extraordinarily fast and was extremely violent to witness. When it was all said and done and the dust had settled the puppy suffered broken ribs, a collapsed lung, internal bleeding and never recovered from its injuries.
I hear of dog attacks all the time; stories of small children being mauled by rotties and pitbulls – seems like an everyday occurrence in the hills of East L.A. The violent dog gets put down, there’s an end to the story, and life goes on. The moral of the story gets lost…until the next time. Dog attacks should be shrugged at; they’re animals, after all. Yet. And yet, this Dog Kills Dog story got to me because it happened where I like to run. My back yard, so to speak. It is almost too easy for me to put myself in the puppy’s place. The aggressive dog charges out of the house, not to attack another four-legged beast, but to fly in my face, teeth bared, set on destroying me. The scene is so real and random I have had nightmares about it.
I haven’t run outside since.