Saturday night Mark and I laid around watching the Olympics complaining about how fat we were getting. After an hour or so of pity party chit chat and a DQ run (I wonder where all this fat is coming from? Hmm..) I suggested a competition of sorts…
“I could so lose twenty pounds faster than you,” I teased.
“Seriously? You wanna compete? With me?”
“Yeah, I will so take you!”
We rolled off the couch and made our way to our scale and determined our start weight and decided what our personal goals were.
The McKinney-Oates Weight Loss Challenge had officially begun!
Sunday morning Mark’s already up to sneaky tricks…
“Sweetie, what do you think about chocolate gravy this morning?”
Chocolate gravy? I love his chocolate gravy. But I’m not an idiot…
“I’m not an idiot. I know what you’re trying to do. And I will eat your chocolate gravy, but I’m going to go for a walk first.”
I could tell by the look on Mark’s face his plan had been foiled. That’s right, homedog, I’m serious when it comes to competition.
I head outside to start walking and get to our neighbor’s driveway.
Two dogs come up to me and start sniffing at me. They aren’t necessarily scary, and actually seem friendly, but for whatever reason I’m scared.
Then up trots a stocky black pitbull. I am not kidding when I say he immediately starts to attack me. There was no growling or barking, no signs of aggression at all. Just biting.
I don’t know why, but something was telling me to ‘just let him bite you’. Don’t yank. Don’t fight. Let him bite you.
As soon as he let go I started walking backwards away from the pack. They are still surrounding me, and I turn around to run and the pitbull starts biting again at my other leg.
By now I’m back in our front yard and I’m screaming for Mark to come help me, and he comes running out. I’ve never been so happy to see him, even though at that point I’m not sure what he can do to help. He came out yelling for them to get away and they immediately fled.
He is my hero in so many ways it isn’t even funny.
After filing all the reports that we needed to with the police and animal services we spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room.
Every nurse, doctor or police officer we saw yesterday commented that it was a miracle that I got out with 3 puncture wounds. Each one said that pitbulls normally clamp down on you and don’t let go. I can’t help but think it was God telling me to ‘just let him bite’. One officer said that was the ideal way to handle a dog attack is to let him bite you because he will eventually let you go.
10 shots and lots of bandages later Mark and I were safely back at home.
I’m not going to lie. I have had a couple of mini freak outs about all the ‘what ifs?’
What if Mark wasn’t home when it happened?
What if I was farther away from home?
What if the dogs had knocked me down and completely mauled me? (that’s what the one officer said they were probably trying to do)
What if I had pulled away?
What if I see that stupid dog again?
Anyways, it’s over, and I’m doing good. To be honest, I think Mark was a more upset emotionally by the whole thing. But we’re good, and God really did protect me and that leaves me both thankful and, to be honest, scared at how real God is.
And for a bright side to this story, do you realize how cool I am now that I’ve been attacked by a pitbull? I feel like I should get a leather jacket or something. I’m kind of awesome.