Teeth trump flesh.
Last week, while at the dog park, Bela got in a fight.
The details involve a large dog taking posession of both of her tennis balls. (Because, yes - we bring an additional ball for ball-thieves.)
As B is not much of a fighter, I knew she meant business.
I didn't see the owner of the other dog moving too quickly to pull her dog off, so...I went in swinging! Well...actually, I went in, arms waving wildly, attempting to pull the other dog on the right more towards the right, and Bela on my left more towards the left.
As the dogs were pulled away from each other (which, ironically, I had nothing to do with -- the other owner grabbed her dog; Mike grabbed Bela), Bela went in for a final chomp.
She got one. Only it wasn't the other dog she got. It was me.
(Even the satisfaction of feeling her teeth sink into something didn't stop her. After being picked up and held in the air by Mike, Bela actually continued to squirm and growl, eager to get out of his arms and KEEP FIGHTING.)
I looked up from the ground where I lay - the only fallen soldier - and said quietly, "I got bit...."
The blood began to pool and run down my arm into the grass.
We packed up her bookbag with her balls and headed home.
She had, nor has - any idea that she bit me. She may relate to or remember a scuffle with a large thiefdog, but likely little more than that. Meanwhile, I ritually tend to my wound and observe it, as it appears as though I have been violently attacked by an unobvious creature. Everything has a mouth!
Ultimately, I am glad she doesn't know she hurt me, as it wasn't her intention and I wouldn't want her to have to feel bad about something she didn't design.
I have been curious, however, as to whether she could connect to the mark if she were to see it.
So this morning, I held out my arm, while doing my morning cleaning, to see if I could incite some feelings of guilt in her.
She just leaned in and sniffed my perfume, appreciatively.
No comments:
Post a Comment