We were well into the return trip when a car pulled up and parked on the street about a hundred feet in front of us. It barely registered as I watched the driver exit and open the passenger-side door to let his dog out. It was nothing out of the ordinary. It was something I’d done dozens of times myself.
Harper stopped in her tracks. I turned to look and somehow didn’t hear paws on the sidewalk in what must have been a full sprint. A huge weight crashed into my legs from behind. Before I had time to process what was going on, a seemingly enormous dog had Harper on her back and was tearing at her throat. At 50 pounds, my dog is not small, but she was outweighed by at least 20 pounds. She was completely defenseless in the position the attacking dog had put her in.
It was immediately apparent that this wasn’t a scuffle or the kind of dogfight that’s over in a few moments with lots of barking and tufts of fur flying but no real damage done. It was clear that the dog was intent on killing Harper and would quickly be successful if I couldn’t separate them.
The next five minutes felt like hours as the other dog’s owner and I did everything we could to open its jaws. He sat on his dog and tried to talk him down. I took what I now realize was an incredibly risky move (not that I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat): I jammed my left hand as far into the attacking dog’s mouth as I could to prevent him from getting a better grip on Harper’s neck. With my right fist I pummeled his face and head over and over.
It felt like a nightmare come to life -- my punches had absolutely zero effect.
I changed tactics and tried to pry open his mouth with my hands. Again, nothing. Gouging at his nose and eyes was equally useless.
I started to realize there was nothing I could do. My dog was going to die.
Neighbors heard the commotion and came out of their houses to try and help. My memory is still hazy, but I remember someone bringing me a jug of water. I poured it over the two dogs in an attempt to get as much as I could down the attacking dog’s throat. He coughed but did not release his grip.
Having not given up my left hand’s position in his mouth, I could still feel him grinding at Harper’s neck. I ran out of water and realized that what I really needed was a pry bar.
It felt providential that suddenly I found myself with a length of rebar (the metal rods used to reinforce concrete) in my right hand. To this day I have no idea which neighbor gave it to me. Using my left hand as a guide, I threaded the rebar between the attacking dog’s teeth, perpendicular to his snout.
With about two feet of leverage, I yanked down on the bar. That finally proved too much for his jaws. His mouth popped open and Harper and I tumbled backward, both of us covered in water and blood. The other dog’s owner pinned his animal. It was finally over.
Harper was still alive, but in rough shape. Another kind neighbor drove us home, where we jumped in my car and rushed to VCA Southeast Portland Animal Hospital – an all-night emergency vet.
Harper sat in the passenger seat and coughed all the way there. I later learned that some of the wounds to her neck had gone all the way through to her trachea and her lungs were filling with blood. Still, after emergency surgery and dozens of stitches, the vet told me Harper would recover.
The bill for Harper’s live-saving vet visit came to about $1,500. The other dog’s owner, who had done all he could to help throughout the ordeal, promised to pay for her care, but it was far more than he was expecting or could afford. To his credit, he made a few payments before eventually disappearing.
In talking with him, I discovered that his dog was a pit bull whom he had rescued. The dog’s history before his ownership was unclear, but he claimed the attack was the first time anything like that had happened. He had no idea why his dog had reacted to the sight of Harper the way he did.
I reported the incident to Multnomah County Animal Services. An officer interviewed me and noted Harper’s injuries. She said the pit bull would be allowed to stay with his owner, but restrictions would be required, including the dog being leashed at all times.
Since the dog and his owner were from out-of-state, there was no way to know whether he had a previous attack history, but this one would be on his record in Oregon.
In the end I realize that no one meant for any of this to happen. The pit bull’s owner did what I often did: opened a car door so his unleashed dog could run to his house. I now understood that I probably shouldn’t do this either – no one can ever really know what any dog will do, and even just a few moments off-leash has the potential to lead to something unexpected.
I do think, however, that there’s an inherent difference between a breed like a border collie and the dogs with the physical makeup of pit bulls.
What really sticks in my mind about the attack was the unbelievable strength of that dog’s jaws. I’m a fairly strong guy, and I was utterly useless against them until I had physics and a piece of reinforcing steel on my side. It seems to me that the potential damage that these dogs can do puts them on a tier above just about all others, and that must be taken into account by anyone who owns one.
I’ve known several wonderful pit bulls and do not hold a grudge against them as a group, but I feel like owning one requires responsibilities of a person that go far beyond what's necessary with most other breeds. The onus is on the owner to practice an abundance of caution at all times – even if that means a muzzle, and of course a leash at a bare minimum.
About a year and half later, Harper is completely recovered and other than the scars on her neck, you’d never know what she’d been through. Somewhat amazingly, I came out of it with nothing more than a few scratches on my left hand. Still, we will never walk by that house again.
(The Oregonian - Oct 13, 2014)
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