The most traumatizing thing about the dog fight today.

Georgia got into a fight today with Sammy, one of her good friends. She's a medium sized dog. Georgia is large.

I'm upset that I let it happen, right after I made the last post and included the link on Are You Prepared For A Dogfight? 

It started in the proverbial blink of an eye. No human would have been fast enough to stop it. Yet the signs that trouble was brewing had been there for a full 30 minutes before it actually started. In those 30 minutes Tara, Sammy and Georgia were chasing balls, rolling around the grass, not playing with each other but happy enough to be in the company of friends.

Sammy wanted to play rope. Georgia didn't want to play rope. Sammy kept begging. Georgia kept saying no. And then, they stopped talking and started snarling and biting.

The fight was loud and frightening and revealed some magnificent teeth. At one point, all 3 dogs got into it.

But THAT wasn't the most traumatizing part.

One tiny dog ran in from nowhere to join the fight. It came so close, it was practically underfoot. I had to grab and push it away. Luckily, its owner came running and, I presume, whisked it into his arms and safely away.

But THAT wasn't the most traumatizing part.

Fresh from reading up on Meetings Between Dogs That Go Bad [including the link above], I tried to stay calm. I didn't scream [at least I think I didn't], try any heroic body-blocking, or hit the dogs and started instead to grab Georgia's bum and hind legs. Poor Sammy and Tara's human was already in the thick of the action.

But what do you do when you finally get a grip on your dog and find that her mouth is still attached to the other dog's ear, and that pulling them apart might mean separating that ear from the head? I had to let go and start again.

Yet THAT wasn't the most traumatizing part of the dogfight.

As suddenly as it started, the fight was over. Georgia lay down on the grass. She was shaking, even her toes were trembling. 6 feet away, Sammy was down on the grass as well. Her ear was bloodied, as was Georgia's tongue. Both were remarkably calm. Tara was already off, running around, looking for her ball, leaving us 2 humans wondering, what the hell.

We waited about 5, maybe 10 minutes, until both dogs lost their stiffness. Since they were friends, we decided it was okay to let them sniff each other again. They'd had kerfuffles before, though perhaps nothing in this grand scale. Silly us. A 2nd fight erupted.

But THAT wasn't the most traumatizing part.

2nd fight over, we were all down on the grass again, humans and dogs alike feeling pretty drained. When out of nowhere, we heard a woman shouting at us. She was so far away, we couldn't really hear what she was saying and tried to tell her as much. But it was pretty obvious by her body language that she wasn't shouting out a friendly "hi!" She grabbed her dog, a mini-schnauzer that looked like it was heading our way, and then I heard her call out, "That big dog can just tear a small dog apart!"

She had been nowhere near the fight. Her dog had been nowhere near the fight. And yet, instead of offering help or showing concern for fellow dog owners whose dogs had just been in a fight, she chose to pass judgement. About dogs she knew nothing about, about circumstances she knew nothing about, about a fight that had nothing at all to do with her really.

THAT woman was the most traumatizing thing about the dogfight today and 5 hours later, my heart is still palpitating just thinking about her.

I think it may be time someone wrote about how to deal with the fearful, aggressive, reactive human in a dogpark.

*****

10 minutes after the dogfight, who would come running into the park but Larry? Happy scrappy Larry with his happy waggy tail. He ran right up to Georgia, who was still lying on the grass, panting, mouth wide open, adrenalin no doubt still pumping.

My heart skipped a beat as he sniffed her face. Then he started to lick her mouth and tongue [presumably because there was lots of yummy blood there].

To my delight and relief, Georgia didn't twitch. Not an ear or nose or whisker.

I don't understand dogs at all. But thank you, Larry. You made my day.