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OK, if you are a reader of my blog, you know about my beloved dog...Izzie. I have never had children before, but I imagine the way I feel about Izzie, is similar to the way mother's feel about their child. He is like a little spot of fuzzy, ewok joy.
See what I mean??
I seriously love this dog. Not a puppy kind of love, but a "we're in it for the long haul" love. It's for real!
Anyway, Saturday I decide that I'm going to take him for a walk. It's a gorgeous day and it's been awhile since we've been out for a stroll. Izzie is happy, as I grab his leash. We're off!! My friend, Katy, calls and we're chatting about this and that. I'm unassumingly moseying along. We hadn't been walking long, when I see this nightmare of a canine creature sitting on the edge of a lawn...
I don't see a leash. I don't see an owner. I don't see a chain. My town doesn't have a lot of rules when it comes to care of animals or property, so I'm not really all that surprised by Cujo's freedom to roam, but I am scared. "Keep walking, no eye contact, don't panic." These are the words that flash through my brain. I don't have time to devise a better plan. The dog attacks my little wicket. It happened so fast! I really can't even use words to describe it.
I am screaming and trying my best to get Cujo to stop, but I am scared of his basketball sized head and bite. Thankfully, his owner must have heard the commotion because he runs outside to help. He repeatedly beats his dog until the death grip is released. Izzie is alive.
Post trauma, I get this text from Katy:
(She heard the whole debacle)
I let her know what happened. This is her reply:
"I thought you got hit by a car, so in that sense, I'm a lil relieved."