“Beach confrontation...”

They attacked from behind. Walking north along the beach, the taste of salt in the air was thick in my nose and on my tongue. The sound of the breaking waves precluded me from hearing their advance. I was nearing the far end of the beach, the rocky outcrop growing in the horizon as they came. My head, lost in thoughts as I meandered along to avoid the wash from the high tide, was not prepared for what was to transpire. All at once teeth locked in on my lower right leg as an onslaught of barks circled from behind. Viciously torn from my thoughts, my head snapped down to see what had attacked. A dog snarled as its teeth clenched my ankle. I abruptly pulled my leg back as I spun around to face my attacker. I yelled loudly while I spun, the dog’s teeth sliding off of my leg, leaving small tears on both sides. Two other medium sized dogs waited behind as I stood, somewhat bewildered, on the edge of the wet and dry sound marking the high tide line.

My days at ATCO as a meter reader had prepared me for dog encounters. Many vicious dogs in the city’s north east had helped to hone my skills for dealing with the animals, and showing me how to interpret their behaviours and body language. I used that knowledge now to assess the situation. The lead dog, the alpha, stood with its tail high in the air and a strong posture. It clearly was not afraid. This was one of the worst situations besides cornering, as the pack mentality gave the dogs a sense of strength that would be hard to handle. I raised my hand in the air and yelled at them again, the two dogs making a brief retreat, obviously scared, while the lead dog lunged forward. He definitely had control of this section of beach. I mustn’t let my guard down or lose focus, or surely his teeth would find skin once again.

Quickly I scanned the surrounding beach and found a small stick, but better than nothing. I picked it up and feigned an eminent strike. This held the lead dog at bay. I walked slowly backwards, never turning my back to show weakness as I shouted. The dogs held their position, and as I got further away, their attention turned elsewhere. The lead dog now made an attack on one of the other dogs to assure its dominance. Why had I not heard them coming in the first place? Dogs usually always make some sort of audible threat before fully engaging. Except for pit bulls and huskies, who always seem to remain eerily quiet, most of my vicious dog encounters have started with a fury of barking to let me know the intentions of the dog. I had had no warning whatsoever before the teeth locked down on my leg.

I studied the wounds, only superficial scratches that drew three separate lines of blood. I walked into the water to wash the wound with salt water, and thoughts turned to what sort of hideous infection might come of this random beach dog’s bites. I also knew that I would once again have to cross their path, so I continually scanned the beach for a larger stick to keep the dogs at bay. Soon I spotted a larger piece of driftwood, approximately the size of a baseball bat. This would do. I checked its strength by hitting it on the beach. It seemed strong enough and carried good weight. I continued along to the end of the beach, the rocky outcrop signalled the end of my walk, so I turned back homeward bound. Not entirely clear on where these dogs had come from, I maintained a constant vigilance of the beach all around where the tree line was. No sign of the dogs yet. Further along I spotted a small house with laundry hanging up outside. Just then the three dogs came running down, this time barking at full volume to resume their attack. Following behind them were two more dogs, one of which was much larger than the others, but appeared to be less interested in pursuing the chase. I raised my large stick in the air and yelled to get back. To make myself seem serious as the lead dog lunged forward, I struck the stick on the ground hard and it broke in two.

The dogs kept back momentarily, then tried to advance when I bent down to pick up the broken end of my stick. I continued to yell and swung violently in front of the three dogs to keep them back. I continued along beside them, close to the water’s edge as waves crept up along the beach, immersing my legs up to the knees. The dogs didn’t appear to want to enter the water, so keeping my front to them I slowly walked backwards down the beach. They continued their onslaught of barks and lunges with which I eagerly held back with a strong word or a swing of my stick. After awhile they gave up and turned back to where they had come from. I arrived at home and washed the blood from my leg and applied some alcohol swabs and polysporin from the first aid kit. I won’t be returning to the far end of the beach as they have seen me retreat. I have no dominance over this pack, so they can keep their section of the beach, and I’ll stay on mine. Hopefully the rabies doesn’t set in or Denielle will have to take me out like Old Yeller.

Tyler.