The First Time

The first time is always the most memorable. After awhile, things just start to run together, and the novelty is gone. Such is true with near death experiences. I've had a few of them in my life, so I'll take the remainder of the week to write about them...unless I get bored with it, in which case, there won't be anymore of them posted after tonight.

In my life, I've had at least 4 dog bites that should have required medical attention, even though I never once saw a doctor for them. I'm hard core like that. Bring on the pain. I think the first time I was ever bit by a dog was probably the most traumatic for me.

For two years, my family lived in the ghetto of Illinois. Aurora was a good spot for drug deals, gang shootings, and and the occasional murder. In fact, the year after my family moved away, a dead body was found in the dumpster directly across the street from our house. Oh the memories.

The last two additions of siblings were added to my family when we lived in that house, a result of passionate love making from my parents. I think they became a little overwhelmed with eight children and hoped for something to happen to a few of us. It would lessen their financial load significantly, afterall.

Our house bordered a parking lot. The house on the corner of the parking lot furthest from our house was notoriously known for having pit bulls. I can only speculate that those dogs were used for fighting since they were the most unsocial dogs I've ever encountered, and animal control made more then one visit there to pick up dogs during our two year stay there.

The dogs would sometimes break their chains and terrorize the dogs, children, and adults of the neighborhood before the owners were able to restore peace. One day, when I was about 3 years old, my worst fear/my parent's solution to financial strain, came true. One of the pit bulls was in the yard while I was outside.

I reacted as any panicked child would, I ran. Of course, my legs were about 16 inches long, and about 18 inches wide with baby fat at the time, so I didn't get very far before the dog caught me. I didn't get very far before he caught me, and pulled me to the ground by my arm. The only thing that saved my life that day was one of my siblings, who was in the yard with me, and a good deal faster then me. I can't remember which one it was, but the dog let go of me to chase them. My brother or sister made it into the house safely, and I ran the opposite way into the back door.

I was lucky that my skin wasn't even broken. I was bruised, but in one piece. Just imagine what the world would have been like if one of it's treasures had been mindlessly eaten by a rabid dog at the age of 3.