Outnumbered Two to One

Growing up I was one of those timid, nervous kids that was frightened by pretty much everything - lizards, insects, dogs, people, kick-balls. A fact that never failed to unnerve my father on the rare weekends when we actually visited.

Dogs specifically were up there on my list though. Who knows where it began. I have a vivid memory of visiting an uncle’s farm, being terrified of the pigs and knowing that somewhere on the stinky premises a dog lurked. My cousins however, assured me said canine was secured to a fence post, then lured me there to greet their guard mutt. I don’t remember the dog’s name. I know she sat passively on her haunches as I approached and then on my cousin’s command of “sick ‘em”, she launched herself at me, throwing me back on my ass in the mud to the boys’ delight.

Fast forward a decade later to me riding around the block on a friend’s bicycle when a neighbor’s German Shephard slipped past his oblivious owner and knocked me to the pavement where I lost a good section of elbow skin to road rash.

Fast forward yet another decade to me pedaling yet another bike, this time with a small child strapped to a baby seat in the back. My older son was probably a year old at the time and I’d gotten in to the habit of riding over to the park about a mile away as part of our midmorning routine. An idyllic, leisurely ride through our quiet neighborhood that ended later with my baby napping sweetly in his crib.

One morning on our ride home, I noticed a dog of unknown origin sniffing around in the bushes near the corner we were approaching. Already my heart was racing because an unleashed dog to me was a potential threat. I’d seen enough tragic news stories about people being mauled to believe any dog loitering without a human companion was obviously out for blood.

I sped up my pace and avoided making eye contact with the dog, hoping beyond hope that he’d ignore me. But as soon as he heard my chains clicking he swung his massive head up to look at me. He didn’t bark, he didn’t make a sound, he just started running.

I honestly don’t know how I didn’t pedal myself in to a light post, my eyes were on this dog the whole time. My heart had dropped to somewhere in my butt and all I could see was this dog, every rippling muscle as he chased us down the block. I could hear his claws against street, I could feel him panting next to me, his head literally at my heel. I was shrieking at the top of my lungs and pedaling so fast I couldn’t feel my legs anymore.

Nobody came out of their house. No cars drove on the street. It was me and the dog and my baby. In my head I was already imagining how I’d have to shield my son from the dog’s snapping jaws, imagining him shredding my back and chewing on my neck and shaking me like a rag doll, maybe using my guts to play tug of war. If I lost my balance, it would be all over.

It was the longest 30 seconds of my life. That’s all it took before the dog got tired and slowed down to a trot then went back to bush sniffing or whatever it was he was up to when a potential lunch rode past. I kept pedaling for another two blocks before I finally slowed down, sobbing and looking over my shoulder. I never stopped because I was sure that vicious hound was ready to snatch up one of my burning trembling thighs.

I was so worried about my son being traumatized by the whole ordeal. He hadn’t made a sound the entire time. There was a reason for that. When I glanced back at him, he was placidly munching on the pretzels I’d given him at the start of our trip. Apparently he was unfazed by the chase, his interest lying purely in the act of sucking the salt off his snack foods.

So, we lived to ride another day. Sort of.

The very next day I convinced myself to get back on the bicycle, to overcome what had happened and not let my fear dictate my actions. So I got back on my bike. And I forced myself to ride to the park and I forced myself to ride home, even though I wanted to throw up, even though I was terrified this time that mongrel would catch up to us.

I did it.

Once.

Proved my point, then parked my bicycle on the patio where it now sits on two flat tires with moldy handlebars.

I have dogs. I’m not afraid of all dogs.  Just those that want to eat my face or my baby. I think that’s justified. No need to revisit that on a daily basis. Overcoming it once is therapy enough for me. Thanks.

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This week’s spin was brought to you by the letter F, for “Friggin’ Fear” and by Sprite’s Keeper, host of The Spin Cycle - encouraging you to blog your fear and to have your pets spayed or neutered or at the very least on a leash, capiche?

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