I am highly, extremely, severely, supremely, nearly ligatorily dissatisfied with my visit to the Rabies Clinic that this establishment hosts on Saturdays from 1 o'clock to half past 2.
Let us be clear, if I were a less moral, and more vengeful person, I would be searching for a lawyer as we speak.
But it's done; we're home and safe, more or less in one piece, and the only ones at fault were the... nimrods... that thought they were above the law.
Settle in, friend, and let me tell you the tale of a large woman, an old woman, their poor puppers, and the four slavering and unrestrained beasts that made their day go south, fast.
Picture the scene, if you will.
A large woman repairs to her vehicle to retrieve her mother's nine month old, bull mastiff puppy to receive his rabies shot. As that same large woman (me) crosses the street in front if the clinic, all hell breaks loose. Out of nowhere, this fat (but quick as a snake), russet colored Rottweiler appears, unrestrained, to attack the poor brindle hound and his current mistress. That same large woman begins to boot that animal in the ribs, as hard she can, to defend her poor puppers (who was doing his best to stay away from those saber teeth), and then was promptly pulled off her feet by the terrified animal. Landing semi-prostrate, with her legs warped under her, all she could holler was 'I CANT DO ANYTHING ABOUT THIS; RECOVER YOUR ANIMALS!!!'
I had my poor puppy's leash grasped tight in a death grip, keeping him close, so that I could offer some meager protection to his flanks and belly, against those seemingly gigantic teeth of the attacker.
It felt like minutes instead of seconds until my 64 year old, fibromyalgic mother appeared in an attempt to help protect me from the animals (just as suddenly numbering four, from the original instigator); all I could do in that space of time was tuck my chin into my collarbone, close my eyes, and turn away to protect my vulnerable throat from that gleaming, awful death.
Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw our dog's leash wrap my mother's ankles, and I could only watch in helpless horror as her feet were swept from beneath her, causing her to land squarely on her left side (thanks the gods diffusing the impact across her entire side, instead of hip or shoulder). After that, those animals were corralled and separated, gods love the pure idiots who had them unsecured. When all involved were secure, I came roaring up off the ground at the unwitting spectators, informing them as to my mother's age and disabled status, saying as a final, verbal snarl, 'CONTROL YOUR ANIMALS!!!'
I think I made a pretty indelible mark on them, or at least, I hope I did.
LET ME BE CLEAR.
IF MY MOTHER HAD BEEN DAMAGED BY THIS INCIDENT, IN DEFENSE OF HER DAUGHTER AND FUR BABY, IN CLEAR VIEW AND REACH OF THE ATTENDANTS (indeed, the whole crowd), WE WOULD NOT BE HAVING THIS DISCUSSION. THE NEXT WORDS SPOKEN FROM ME TO THIS ESTABLISHMENT AND CLINIC WOULD HAVE BEEN CARRIED IN A PACKET BY A LAWYER.
But.
She didn't. She walked (limped) away, as did I. And that is what is staying my hand.
I could have died.
She could have broken her back.
But Fortuna smiled, and we escaped unscathed, for the most part.
Please.
Use this as a learning experience.
We were okay, and we even received an apology from the main (idiotic) instigator; however, someone could have been severely injured, even unto death.
Train all of the Saturday clinic attendants on how to respond in a high pressure environment. I don't blame them; just because I can (mostly, kind of) keep my head in such a situation does not mean everyone can.
Train those attendants on action until it's muscle memory. Drill them on response time reduction. Show them how to tackle an aggressive dog, for gods' sake.
Something.
Anything.
For my sake. read more
