Images: Cartoon Stock
Omigod - Dogs Are Animals?
Yes, Dorothy. This is not the Land of Oz where animals are the same as people.
GlobalNews: Toronto’s reported dog bites have been rising since 2012, and in 2013 and 2014 reached their highest levels this century, even as pit bulls and similar dogs neared local extinction.
And that's just Toronto, and only the dog bites that were actually reported and treated by doctors. And there's more of it now.
APMLawyers: There are over 500,000 dog bites reported in Canada each year.
Reuters: Some 5 million people in the U.S. are bitten by dogs each year, half of whom are children.
It's a bloody epidemic, everywhere! Just another example of the overall mindlessness of TV-sodden people where the dog is always the gentle hero and loyal family friend.
I hate dogs. Hate's a strong word, I know. It's not the dog's fault that it's an animal; it's the owner's fault that they imagine their dog is a cuddly teddy bear who gives them unconditional love. They don't want to know that dogs will "love" anybody who feeds them.
As animals, dogs respect only "alphas" and, if there's no human alpha, guess who takes on the role? And that's why so many cuddly little creatures do not obey their female owners. If a woman's going to have any control over her dog's behaviour, she can't view it as a cuddly little teddy bear, or talk to it as if it were a 3-year-old child. She's got to know it's an animal, with animal behaviours that have to be tamed for its own good, and for the safety and comfort of humans.
Instead, most teddy bear owners are personally affronted if you're not happy to be leapt upon by their love object. You're supposed to know that even if their dog growls and barks at you, he's really just being friendly.
Neither do they seem to realize or care that their "pets" were bred in ghastly puppy mills and are neurotic from the getgo; instead they've been brainwashed somehow into thinking it makes them look good to be seen with a domineering little beast pulling them down the street.
Whatever the statistics, there's a noticeable dog epidemic in my own town. I know because I get around on foot and as a result am subjected on a regular basis to dogs out walking their owners. People encased in automobiles don't get anywhere near the real picture.
When I was a kid, I liked having a dog as a friend. But I'm an adult now and I need grown-up relationships. Strangely, my long-time best friends don't like critters on strings any more than I do, and I've only discovered this recently because the subject hadn't come up before. Like attracts like, it seems.
Unfortunately, I live in an apartment building that harbours a disproportionate number of older, single, mutt-loving women who have turned out not to be friend material at all. They sit in their lawn chairs watching other residents come and go, gossiping about them. What kind of life is that, I wonder, having nothing better to do than gossip, walk their dogs, and pick up poop, when they're not watching TV soaps or reading fiction.
I actually have a few real interests, so I don't fit in too well, though I do try to be friendly when passing by. Have you ever seen the movie The West Side Waltz (1995) with Shirley MacLaine, Jennifer Grey and Kathy Bates? Wonderful movie! Shirley's character, a classical pianist, has to walk through a gauntlet similar to the one I encounter almost every day, and she too feels completely out of sinc with the twittering knitters.
Anyway, a week ago I was walking in a residential area of town that I seldom frequent when out from behind a hedge came two vicious little yappers. One attacked me from the rear and the other tried to get at me from the front. I kicked both of those little beasts into the bushes and strangely I don't feel bad about that.
Their owner appeared and the dogs ran to him for protection from bad old me, but he would not look me in the eye and didn't show the slightest concern when I said, "Your dog bit me". Instead, he whined that he'd been "trying" to get them to go into the house, as if expecting full marks for "trying". Which is a good indicator of the level of alpha, let alone human decency, of that particular dog owner.
I was on my way to a meeting at the time, so I limped on to my destination where my wound was inspected by well-meaning people who emphatically told me I needed to see a doctor right away. I guess it's not their fault that they've been brainwashed about the omnipotence of the medical profession! "You need tetanus, rabies and antibiotic shots" they told me. "You could DIE" they said.
So I didn't argue, though I had no intention of actually following the advice. I have multiple autoimmune problems which, after years of reading, experimenting and serious deliberation, I've decided have resulted from too many chemicals in the environment, so I gave up on doctors a couple of decades ago after being tortured for years with failed experiments.
Basically, I avoid chemicals wherever I can and try to keep a positive attitude, focusing on health rather than sickness. But, of course, if you consult MD's they always feel obligated to try to do something, and all they have is chemicals, which you will get full blast into your bloodstream if you've been bitten by a dog.
I weighed the prospect of possible death against my horror of modern medicine and opted for possible death instead - and, of course, for possible natural healing. But I can only advise myself; you would have to do what you felt best.
I had peroxide in my bathroom cabinet so I cleaned the wound with that. Next day I bought some antibiotic cream and applied it after each cleaning, about three times a day. (Much safer than having antibiotics pumped directly into my blood stream.)
I've taken my temperature each day and it did rise to "normal" (I've always had below "normal" body temperature - a cold fish, so to speak), but this week it's also been fairly hot outside, so it's probably not the wound that caused the rise.
It will be a week tomorrow since the bite occurred and, although I admit to having felt somewhat under the weather, there's no overt sign of infection and the wound has been gradually shrinking. I think that the dog's having had to bite through my jeans saved me from the worst of what he was capable of. (I love my jeans even more now.)
But having recovered somewhat from the shock and pain, I find I've become extremely angry. I want to go downstairs and tell those neighbours of mine that the next time one of their little beasts takes a run at me I'm going to kick it into the middle of a week from Sunday.
They would quickly pass the word and I'd become the wicked witch of the east, but then, when they saw me coming, they might just do the right thing for their dogs - give them a meaningful command for once in their pathetic little lives!
But I'll get over my anger. I always do. Below is how the wound looks as I write this. Not bad, eh?
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