Behold the dedicated, loyal and affectionate canine that brings countless hours of joy and companionship to all. From fetching the morning paper to retrieving a tennis ball to guarding the house, they do it all.
There’s just one problem. They bite.
The Center for Disease Control estimated there were 4.5 million dog bites in the Unites States from 2001 to 2003. It also estimated there are over 350,000 hospital visits a year from dog bites.
In 2014 there were 42 fatalities reported from dog bites. That’s a lot.
Of course the fire service has a rich tradition with dogs. Few things reek of tradition more than a Dalmatian perched atop a fire truck.
Dalmatians came from the Dalmatia region of Croatia where they were used as carriage dogs. So naturally when they came to this country they were a natural fit with the horse-drawn fire trucks.
Fluffy doesn’t bite
However, these aren’t the dogs I’m talking about. I’m talking about the always-fun situation when you arrive at an emergency to find an aggravated dog.
I don’t know how many times I have stood on a front porch and told somebody to “put the dog up.”
The answer I usually get is he or she doesn’t bite. Well, about that.
No, Fluffy wouldn’t bite you, but the dog has already figured out there is a problem. Most people who call an ambulance are upset and have realized this is an out-of-the ordinary circumstance. People who ride busy medic units would disagree with me. The owners are upset and now a big red noisy thing has pulled up.
My rule of thumb is if it eats, it bites.
I usually encounter two distinct types of dogs. I either get the behemoth beast or the yapping dogs. The behemoth beast is usually St Bernard size and is snarling with the hair on it’s back standing up.
Some guys I have worked with will push on inside and pet the dog. The dog will lick them and they will later tell me, “I could tell it was friendly.” Yeah, I don’t do that. I have enough trouble reading humans to even try a dog.
Rover goes vegan
The yapping dogs are football size or smaller and run around your feet yapping. Yapping dogs usually run in herds of two to three.
Here is how the usual scenario unfolds. We are called to a house for a medical emergency. We arrive and from the street we can hear a dog barking deep in the house.
We stumble up to the door, which is partially open and see our patient in the living room recliner. A family member motions us to come in. Of course between us and them is a large barking dog.
I will ask them to put the dog up. Of course on cue I am told this species of dog doesn’t bite. It eats a vegetarian soup through a straw every day.
Usually the owner will comply and put the dog in another room, but you have the diehard “my dog won’t bite” folks, who don’t. Sometimes they lecture the dog, “Rover, you go sit down! Right now!”
They might as well tell Rover to go watch the Weather Channel because Rover will have none of it. Rover is looking at my blue uniform pants slobbering because he thinks I might be the mail carrier.
Achtung
I was on a nonemergency citizen-assist call one day for a water leak or something. The owner had put up a dog prior to our arrival you could hear it barking in another part of the house.
Unfortunately, the owner’s mother lived in the house and suffered from some sort of dementia. She let Killer out, who promptly found us in the kitchen.
Do you remember the scene in “Ferris Buehler’s Day Off” when Principal Rooney comes to Ferris’ house and confronts the Rottweiler? That is just what this dog looked like. I climbed onto the washing machine. The owner was able to coral the beast and apologized profusely.
I think the biggest scare I ever had with a dog was in the firehouse of all places. A K-9 police officer came by the station with his dog. He was a former firefighter, which explained his sense of humor. He would come by every now and again and the guys would pet the dog and it would retrieve a ball.
One night the crime-fighting duo was in the apparatus bay visiting and somebody asked if the dog could really get mean. He seemed so friendly and playful. “Sure,” replied the officer, “watch.”
It was just about then that I was coming down a set of stairs from the dispatch area. The officer pointed at me and shouted, “Kill!” My knees became rubber.
Somehow I managed to climb back up the stairs quicker than I ever gone up a set of stairs in my life. I slammed the door and took a deep breath.
I looked out only to see the police officer laughing hysterically and the dog still sitting dutifully at his maters feet with a look of total bewilderment. I’m sure McGruff was wondering what in the world was wrong with that guy.
After the laughter subsided the officer confessed the dogs commands were only given in German. I’m glad nobody asked me what number came after 8. I might be missing an arm.
Let me hear from you.
