my dog tried to kill me. part 1.
It’s been about a week since Sparky. I started journaling - it’s been good to me so far. I’ve gotten a cast on my arm from the attack - it has helped but when I look at it, I can still feel his teeth gnashing into me.
As much as I’d love to tell more people about what I really think happened those nights, it’s been a bit troubling when I try to approach it. The first friend I tried to talk to about it steered the subject into my drinking and the breakup I went through, especially when I tried to tell them that I didn’t remember ever booking the appointment at the humane society in the first place.
I don’t even remember bringing Sparky back home. I saw him, and then he was just…
There.
I think about the lost time and how I can’t remember Sparky getting into my life. I just remember waking up one morning and something else was behind the wheel. I wasn’t in control during most of that time. As much as I’d hate to admit it, I can see how someone could look at someone saying that and think he’s a drunk.
I’ve slowed down on the drinking. My friend always cycles back to the trauma of the breakup, likely already exacerbating an underlying thing I wasn’t aware of. Not a fun conversation to have.
I was low, yeah, I can’t deny that. I turned to booze and pot. Sue me. As much as I feel like there were supernatural influences, my friend swears it was the combination of the depression and the booze.
It may have been.
Sparky may have just been a regular dog and I may have tried to kill myself those nights.
Or he’s something else that preyed on me like the predator he was. Sniffed me out like the dog he pretended to be and took his literal bone.
I want it to have been just a drunk bender.
But I don’t think it was. I don’t think he left.
I had mentioned I still hear growls at night. At first, I had thought, hey, just some PTSD. It’ll likely happen. There were a couple of times, I swear to God, I saw his eyes looking at me from the foot of the bed.
I’ll make it clear that my bedroom window does face a busy road - it’s could’ve been headlights. All of this could’ve been just figments of my imagination.
I tried to convince myself the eyes I saw were headlights, even when I closed the blinds and still saw them. I worked very hard to try to rationalize the sudden feeling of pressure on the sheets as gusts from an open window - and later, when the windows were closed, I just thought, hey, old drafty apartment. Surely Sparky isn’t still here.
But I think he left his scent on me.
A few days after Sparky disappeared, curiosity got the best of me. I returned to the animal shelter I had adopted him from, looking for answers to questions I’m not sure I wanted to know. Part of me would’ve rather just let sleeping dogs lie (hah!) but I still felt him with me. I couldn’t deny that.
I would be in the humane society for less than 15 minutes before it turned to chaos.
According to the lady at the front desk, it’s almost as if the second I pulled into the lot, all hell broke loose. The dogs started barking non-stop, aggressive barking, even the quiet ones. As I tried to talk over the barking at the front desk and ask questions, it got worse.
I quickly got shuffled to wear they kept the cats as the commotion got louder. An obviously hurried, slightly worried staff member rushed me into the kenneled cats area and shut the door behind me. I saw her rush off, and I turned to face the room of (thankfully) caged cats.
You’ve been on the internet. You’ve seen those kinds of cat videos, where two cats growl at each other, about to fight - and the comment section goes absolutely bonkers at how funny the noises they make are and how mad they look, when in all actuality it’s likely not a funny situation at all.
Imagine that - but in a small, cramped, room with about 15 cats on each side of you.
Every single caged cat was hunched up in attack mode. Every single one had that growling noise, which I can attest, when surrounded by a bunch of angry cats is NOT funny. A few rushed the cages, swiping at me furiously. One was so aggressive; it charged the cage - startling backwards into a cage with a cat that was primed and ready for its chance. It managed to get two deep swipes on my neck - thankfully avoiding any serious damage - and that’s when I darted out of the room and locked the door.
Moments later, the staff member who rushed me into the room appeared, covered in blood. They told me I had to leave. I didn’t question it.
I later found out that something had whipped the dogs into such a frenzy that some had begun attacking each other. Once staff had tried to intervene and separate the dogs, the dogs had turned their attention to them. One person died while two others were sent to the hospital for critical injuries.
Apparently, it doesn’t look good for the dogs.
The next night, I got attacked.
Ever since Sparky and the last visit to the humane society, I avoid animals. Thankfully, with my job as a bartender, I tend to keep a late schedule - and part of that includes night walks. Exercise was something that I could control, and it gave me confidence again. It made me want to date again, and while I couldn’t necessarily lift, the fresh air and cardio helped a lot.
It was around 2 am. The air was crisp, but I loved it. I live in northwestern Indiana, close to a variety of nice bike paths and nature trails - don’t let people tell you there’s nothing out here. It can be very pretty on occasions, and this night was one of those occasions.
I had my reflective gear on, and my small arm light. I’m not stupid to the dangers - vehicular as well as physical. I never leave without a small switchblade when I walk. Even prior to Sparky, I’ve read too many horror stories of people getting mugged while out. Not me, sir.
I was on a lit section of the main town square, about three miles into my usual five. I was close to my apartment, and always slowed down during this part of the main town square. I enjoyed the scenery and the quietness of what’s usually a noisy, crowded downtown.
I managed to hear the sound of something chasing me almost instantly. I don’t wear my headphones for this reason alone. I don’t look back. I run as well as I can, still nursing some lingering pain from Sparky’s first attack.
I make the mistake of glancing behind myself to see what it is and that’s when I fell. My foot caught an uneven part of the curb and I toppled face first into the damp street. My non-broken forearm catches a bit of the fall, unfortunately, and I scream in pain.
I hear the thing gaining on me. I roll over and face it, and only get a glimpse of it before it latches onto my leg, in the same precise area where Sparky had attacked me during the fire.
It looked like some poorly defined coyote - definitely canine in appearance, but it gave such an unsettling feeling of it being slightly wrong somehow, like the dimensions were off. Its eyes glowed bright red, and I distinctly remember the foam in its mouth.
It had the exact same gnarled ears that Sparky had. I know I sound crazy but Sparky was the perfect looking golden retriever, save for those gnarled, deformed ears. This coyote-thing had the exact same ones. I was more or less constantly afraid since it had attacked me the first time - but now I felt deeper fear than I ever had before.
It held me in its mouth, staring me down, and that’s when I saw the approaching headlights.
It bit harder. I had to act. I yanked the switchblade out of my zipper pocket, flicked it open, and brought it down into its eye. I saw blood began to gush out of the eye, and I swear to you it hissed when it hit the pavement. It didn’t bark, but it roared - and then it disappeared, blade and all, into the shadows. I hear the approaching car honk its horn and slam its brakes. I roll, and if I was even a second late, I would’ve died.
The car called me an ambulance. I was treated for a rabies shot, bandaged up, and sent on my way. I didn’t say anything about seeing Sparky again, or that I suspected whatever Sparky was couldn’t get rabies. The doctor did tell me however to ease up on the car until I’m healed fully - and he’s not kidding. Putting pressure on the leg hurts quite a bit. He assured me it’ll heal sooner rather than later, but to take it easy in the meantime.
Sparky knew it. He knew that if I didn’t die that night from the car, that I wouldn’t be able to put my all into the one thing that’s kept me sane and grounded in all of this. But this encounter taught me two things.
First, Sparky can be surprised.
Secondly, he was intelligent and not to be underestimated.
And then last night, I met Tyler, and everything got worse.
I didn’t quit drinking. I cut back. Don’t raise your eyebrow at me. You don’t know the kind of week I went through. I felt like I was going crazy. I began to feel anxious around other random animals like squirrels and birds. I self-medicated. I’m aware. Cut me some slack.
I’m about two beers in at my local spot when this skinny, blonde, glasses-wearing dork appears. I’ve got a soft-spot for men on the nerdier side of things, and thankfully my Kirby hoodie I was wearing caught his eye. He’s a Nintendo nerd too. He pulls up a chair next to me.
We spent the next three hours chatting together. We hit it off. I’m a little oblivious to the fact that he begins to flirt with me about an hour in. I was never good at this stuff. I was too wrapped up in having an actual, normal conversation with someone. It was the first stretch of time where I hadn’t thought about Sparky in a long time.
He asks about whether I’m a cat or dog person. I nearly spit my drink out, but compose myself.
I am vulnerable with him. I don’t tell him about Sparky, but I do mention that animals don’t like me, gesturing to my scars. He’d always smile that disarming, beautiful smile and tell me I just haven’t met the right one.
We escalate flirtation a bit more, and then he finally asks if I want to go back to his place. I say yes, a bit too quickly. He laughed. My lizard brain was operating in overdrive, sure - I was in a dry spell and Tyler was cute, and charming.
And part of me absolutely jumped at the chance to be in a space different from the one where I nearly died, even if it was only a night. We leave, and I get in his car.
On the way there, he holds my hand and his face gets serious.
“Greg,” he says. “I just want you to know that I have a dog. I didn’t really know how to approach it… after you told me what happened, I freaked out a bit and didn’t say anything.”
I felt my stomach drop. I instinctively reached for the car handle. I clocked how fast we were going. I could survive that roll. Tyler saw me tense, and pulled over.
“Look,” he says, staring into my eyes. His hands hold mine. “I’ve had him since I was a kid. He’s the sweetest, most gentle labrador you’d ever meet. I know you’re afraid - if we go there and it’s too much, I understand… I like you a lot, Greg, and I want to give this a shot.”
I try to tell him that it’s not me, necessarily. Pets do not like me, full-stop.
He assures me his will.
I think of my friend and what hed say. Exposure therapy for fear or some new-age bullshit. I look at Tyler and I nod my head.
Before I know it, we’re outside his apartment.
“He may get a bit excited,” Tyler says, turning the lock. “Bullet, I’m home!”
He twists the doorknob
I hear the shuffling behind the door.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I get dizzy.
The door opens, and Tyler bends over, petting the excited labrador. I hear him call him a good boy.
Tyler steps to the side and the labrador leaps up at me, wagging its tail the entire time, trying to kiss me.
It’s the first dog to be friendly to me since Sparky.
That’s because it’s not a dog, I realize with horror. I first noticed the scar around its eye, the same eye I stabbed the coyote in. Then I saw those unforgettable, bent, crooked ears, just like Sparky’s.