MountainMornings

Last night, for only the second time in my life, my dog was attacked. The first time this happened, I was walking 100 pound Buddha. 

Four dogs flew through their invisible fence and stood growling and barring their teeth. Time stood still. I wasn’t sure what to do, but many Sherlock Holmes-like scenarios ran through my head. 

Should I let go of the leash so as not to be entangled by it?

And just as I was calculating that in a split second Buddha calmly placed his whole white, furry Polar Bear body sideways in front of me. Never looking into the dogs eyes, he stood his ground, showing them the grand beauty of his size alone. 

They continued to growl, but softer. I knew what to do. “Heel” boy, and we walked away from that  encounter, our heads high. 

But last night I got sucker punched. Returning late from Grandma Ada’s, I was walking Ms Bean back into the hotel on her leash. Right near the front door, an old hound filled with tumors started to growl and I didn’t think anything of it  until he started to pummel forward. 

He bit Bean in the neck and I can’t remember time standing still. In fact, it sped up and we went around and around, it didn’t occur to me to drop the leash. Finally Bob intervened and my poor Ms Bean had pulled her head out of its collar to run away. 

But the worst was yet to come. The  hound’s woman stayed in the lobby, apologizing as Bean cowered underneath me. Bob told her we were fine, when in fact we were not, and the night manager asked her to return to her room – asked Bob if we we would like to call the police, to press charges. 

As the woman left the lobby, she muttered some insult at us. At that point I went into fight mode, leaving Bean with Bob I nearly ran after her and stood within an inch of her life to tell her exactly what I thought of her and her aggressive, unhinged and unleashed dog!

She backed down. 

You do not mess with a Jersey girl masquerading as a Virginia country woman. This morning we will walk Bean in the Park. Maybe I will try meditation, sometimes I feel like I could fly. I will ice my pinky finger again, that same one is a soft shade of leash-twisting purple. Bean seems fine, there was no blood, only the residual stream of adrenaline dripping through my veins. 

But there will be papers filed. It’s true about never going home again.