Fight, Flight or Bite?

The sun warms my back in a way that it hasn’t since mid-September as we glide through the outskirts of Fritch, TX on our bikes.  The weather in the Midwest has been so cold and icy that it’s been at least a month since we’ve been out for a ride, and it feels amazing to be back in the saddle and wearing shorts.  This is why we made our way to the southwest in December. 

The neighborhood through which we ride has probably seen better days.  It’s not the number of trailer homes that give me this feeling, as much as the state that many are in.  Also, vehicles in various life stages parked throughout the properties out numbering the homes at an average of 3 to 1 is a little worrisome, but then again, we’ve lived in Appalachia and have seen plenty of areas where the line between yard, driveway, and kennel gets a little blurred.

Drawn as we are to rural areas with vast horizons, we’ve seen pet management strategies of all kinds, so it comes as no surprise when at the top of one little hill we come upon a house with 3 barking, no 4, 5, no 6 barking dogs all resembling the Pit Bull or Rottweiler family traits.  They all join in their canine welcome song, which surprisingly sounds familiar to the “I'm going to tear your face off!” song – it’s so hard to tell.  But they appear contained behind a fenced yard, so we proceed.   No sooner do we pass the driveway thinking we’re in the clear, when one Rottweiler momma dog with teets nearly dragging on the ground comes out to take the welcome message a little closer. 

My eyes narrow and lock onto the big bitch, gauging her intent, and I move into the center of the lane.   She’s coming at me and barking aggressively but hasn’t fully committed to eating me… yet.  Shari’s just over my right shoulder and I angle myself to be between Shari and this big dog now rapidly closing the distance.  Without taking my eye off her, I slow down just a little bit to allow Shari a clear lane to pass me on the right and leave our would-be assailant in the dust.  My hasty plan is working flawlessly, and I give my wife the go ahead, “Go Shari! GOOOO!” 

I look over my right shoulder to where Shari should be pulling through, breaking away, and all I see is pavement.  Craning my neck around to look behind me, I see my wife pedaling like a woman possessed in the opposite direction, leaving behind a Shari-shaped cloud of dust.  She is eating up pavement, putting distance between this little house of horrors and herself like a Road Runner cartoon.  Now that is a break away! 

The Roty on my left seems as confused as I, and she slows a little bit; my sacrifice has gone completely unappreciated or even known.  When she heard me holler “Go, Shari!” she assumed the dogs were literally on her heels and she put the hammer down.  Now, all the dogs are in the street some looking at her a little wistfully, some following me.  “Shit!” I think, “now I gotta ride through this gauntlet again.”  As I bank into a quick turn, the whole pack adjusts and acquires ME as their main target.  Before they can get fully organized, I dive deep down into my body, to my former triathlete days, for my best Gregg LaMond impression.  Weaving around one little terrier and cutting in between two angling Pits, I squeeze through a gap.  There is nothing like that cold shot of adrenaline to make those pedals fly, and they do.  The dogs don’t give up easily, but I manage to put some space between us and begin to catch up with my partner.

As mammals we all have this primal response hardwired into our amygdala – run like hell, or fight like it.  But of course, we are all individuals, what sends each of us off are a specific set of external stimuli as unique to our own experience and environment as we are.  And I realize that Shari’s response to unknown and unfriendly dogs came after a terrifying experience in our previous neighborhood when she was bitten over 9 times by a dog who was staying with our neighbor.  In that incident she had just come off abdominal surgery and could neither fight nor flee, instead she could only cover herself and scream for help.  I came running around the corner which ended the attack, but it still left scars – both literally and figuratively. 

Shari absolutely loves dogs, and her parents have had many Rottweilers, all of whom have been loveable lap dogs and face lickers.  But she just doesn’t trust ones who aren’t behind a fence and come running up barking out the same canine tune.  Her normal response is to scream “GO HOME!” in a voice so primal that it sends shivers up my spine, other times like these it’s turn tail and run like wind!  

The next time this happens, we have a new game plan, turn tail together and ride baby, ride!