Aloha friends and fam! I have not written half as often as I’d like – not because I lack the subject matter – certainly in part due to lack of time, but more importantly because I have been working to find the lessons in my recent experiences.

Last week my own dog, a dog I loved on every day, a dog who I knew would protect me from any danger – attacked me. It was not a ‘caught by surprise’ situation, or while breaking up a fight, or getting in the way of food. He knew it was me, and lunged at me, taking my lower jaw in his jaws… I think. The moment when he teeth sunk is a void in my memory. I remember the before and the after, as clear as day, but the moment of impact and when I unhinged his jaw from my own, is gone. Strange. As if my mind were protecting me from a trauma – which is totally unnecessary. I was not afraid then, I’m not afraid of dogs now. Or perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through my system.

As a puppy, when my husband found him on the side of the road, skin and bones, barely able to walk, he would steal the bigger dogs’ food. He would race under their feet and gobble it all down. As the years passed, he became more aggressive, bossing around his older brother (also a rescue). In recent months, he would growl and snap at the other dogs, but with a verbal reprimand, would back off, or with a simple swat on the back leg. He was always very responsive. This time was much different. As always he was bossing his brother trying to take his food – I fussed at him, swatted at his back leg (lightly, not meant to be painful), he turned around and snarled at me – he had NEVER done this before. Needing to identify myself as the alpha, in complete control of myself, I took him by the scruff and said his name and, NO! That’s when he went for me, knowing well who I was, there was no doubt at this point he knew I was not another dog trying to take his food. I believe he held on tight judging by the nature of the split in my lip and bruising to the underside of my jaw – I must have pulled him off. The next part I recall clearly is my husband running out to me; I had one hand over my mouth with blood dripping through my fingers, and the other hand holding him down at arm’s length.

5 stitches later I am on my way home from the ER with more gratitude in my heart than I could ever contain. My son was the one who fed the dogs, my 6 year old son. My 10 year old daughter would fuss at Muttlee for grumbling at his brother. I didn’t recognize the signs. I am sad we could not keep him but oh so grateful it was me he attacked and not the kids, or anyone else for that matter. The saying ‘God works in mysterious ways’ is so, so very true. Damn I loved that dog so much.

On a lighter…no, more cheerful… ah, less painful?…damn, on a sweeter note; about a month ago my sweet, crazy old girl Penny passed away at 14 years old. I found her on the porch where she would always take her naps, laying as if she were only sleeping. I had prayed over and over again for her to be able to die in peace, with as little suffering as possible. That morning she had eaten her breakfast and gotten loved on by both myself and my husband. I watched her like a hawk, for any signs of aggression in her senility, but she never once snapped at any human despite her ‘part pitbull’ breed. I miss her so much, she had a great life and got a cherry Hawaiian retirement.