Dog Bites | Teen Ink

Dog Bites

April 30, 2018
By Anonymous

I woke up in the morning not knowing what my day was going to bring me and never thought it would bring a scar on my leg.  On a hot, golden summer day, my brother and I relaxed home alone while my dad was at work.  It had been my job to let my dogs outside for a little bit.  One of my dogs, Mia, had just had puppies, so our two girl dogs, Mia and Jina, couldn’t be near each other because Mia was very mean and protective from just having puppies.  I let one dog outside at a time, and I kept the other dog inside, waiting in our kitchen, so she could be let out next. 


After I let the dog out, I patiently waited on my dad to get home from work, so he could take me to practice.  While waiting on my dad, I continued sprinting around the house, sounding like a heard of elephants, getting ready my practice, which I thought I would be late for.  I forgot that my screen door to go outside was broken, and the rest of the doors in the house were open.  Suddenly, I heard the loud clatter of chairs being knocked down in the kitchen.  I already knew what happened from the sound of chairs being knocked down.  It sounded so loud that people in China could hear it. When I heard the loud noise, I froze for a minute in terror realizing that the dog ran to the back door and out the screen door that was broken. 

Running to my kitchen as fast as I could, I witness my dogs aggressively biting each other.  As I was witnessing that, I was so scared that I started crying instantly because no one else was home to help me except for my little brother.  I thought to myself, ‘They’re going to kill each other.’  Finally, I quickly grabbed the grey, plastic dog gate and tried to put in between the dogs to break up the fight, but that did not work.  Instead, my two dogs hopped over the gate, and I was terrified that one of them was going to bite my hand.  There was no other solution, so I kept using the dog gate in hopes to break them up.  It still didn’t work.  I yelled and swore.  Blood covered our kitchen.  I tried pushing one of my dogs out to our utility room, so I could shut the door and break up the fight when suddenly my dog went to go in for another bite of my other dog, missed, and bit my leg instead.  My leg stung like a bee, and I screamed.  I knew I had just been bitten, but that was not the problem right now.

A few minutes later, I pushed my dog out into our utility room.  The dogfight ended, and I was so relieved.  Still in tears, I look down at my tan leg to see a chunk of skin on my inner thigh missing.  I cried even more from the pain that had just hit me.  Suddenly, my dad pulled in our driveway in his red truck.  He strolled through the closed door and saw me standing there wailing.  Instantly, I showed him the bite on my leg, and he cleaned it off for me by taking a washrag, putting hot water on it and gently patting my leg.  He told me that it would sting for a while, and he made sure it didn’t get infected.  At this point it didn’t matter that I was later for practice.
A few minutes later, I finally showed up for cheer, crying in pain.  Everyone came up to me asking me, “Are you okay?”

However, my coach wouldn’t let me practice and told me, “You need to sit out because of your bite.”  I cried and cried even more thinking that I let my team down by not participating in practice.  While sitting down looking at my team in our hot gym that smelled of dust, I called my mom to inform her what had happened.  Like most moms, she freaked out and raced over to the old school where I was to make sure I was okay. 

My mom took me to her house and cleaned off my bloody wound that had already been cleaned off earlier and told me, “It might be infected.”  At that point I finally stopped crying, and my mom took me back to the school. 
Later, my dad picked me back up from practice, and we went home.  We arrived at my house, and I pet my dog that had accidently bitten me.  I couldn’t be mad at my brown, loving dog because she didn’t mean it. 

Later that night, I carefully lay in my bed making sure that nothing touched my wound that had been wrapped in tan colored band aids.  I lay there staring at my plain white celling that was above me and thought to myself, ‘Never will I ever get in the middle of two dogs fighting again.’

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