The Dog Who Attacked Me
Even though I didn't deserve it
At the beginning of 2021, the Pandemic was still thriving; vaccines weren’t available yet, and I was losing my mind out of sheer boredom. I always thought Pandemics would be filled with adrenaline rushes, flesh-eating zombies, and all-out war. I honestly thought I’d see a rabid Grandma drop down from the rafters at Gelsons and fistfight a man for the last can of beans. That was not the case. The Pandemic was mind-numbingly dull. If Covid didn’t kill me, the monotony of everyday life would. Something needed to change, or I would be stuck in the endless loop of 2020 forever. Wake up, walk the dog, drink coffee, check Twitter, write, read a book, watch the news, ride my Peloton, shower (sometimes), stare out the window, water my plants, learn Italian, walk the dog, watch TV, pour wine, drink wine, drink more wine, and go to bed.
My therapist suggested getting out of this cycle by trying Dry January since I always feel better when I stop drinking. I thought she would recommend taking flying lessons or shoplifting; her solution to my boredom was to stop drinking for a month and see what happens. I didn’t see the point of sobering up other than the fact that I was drinking excessively, but I agreed to try. What’s the worst that could happen? The world was already at rock bottom. Travel was still restricted, restaurants and businesses were boarded up, tons of people died, and the dumb orange man still had a few more weeks left in office. I told my therapist I would do it, but only if I could start on January second, since January first is New Year’s Day, which is technically a continuation of New Year’s Eve, and I love to drink on Holidays.
The first three nights were the hardest, I had trouble falling asleep, but I pushed through. Certain times of day were triggering, like when the sun started to set at Cabernet o’clock. But if I replaced my normal routine with something else, the feeling of needing a drink would eventually pass. I replaced wine with La Croix, and then I replaced La Croix with Topo Chico. I’d wake up early and go on hikes and long walks with all my newfound energy. I also loved the feeling of waking up without a hangover; what a rush. I got on smoothie TikTok, a welcome change from my previous algorithm, shark attack TikTok. I was finally entering the healthy, hot girl era of the Pandemic, which was an exciting time for me and anyone who had to look at me.
By the middle of January, drinking hardly crossed my mind. It faded into the background, like Marty’s photo on Back to the Future. As I gave my liver a break, I also gave my home a much-needed cleanse. I went through my closet and stuffed bag after bag with old clothes to give away. Then I went through all my books and compiled the ones I already read or had no interest in reading. There was a Little Free Library a few blocks from my place, and I was excited to give my books a new home.
Then came Sunday, January seventeenth.
I’ve always loved Sundays because it’s the day I was born and probably the reason I like brunch so much. After months of cold and dreary weather, LA was blessed with our first conventionally beautiful day of the year. The sky was clear and blue, and the temperature hovered around seventy-five degrees, not bad for mid-January. LA winters are the best because it gets cold enough to wear a jacket but not too cold to need gloves.
I put on an old pair of Lululemon yoga pants and tennis shoes and hauled my books down to The Little Free Library. I put my airpods in my ears but wasn’t in the mood to listen to music, podcasts, or audiobooks. The birds were chirping for the first time in months, and I wanted to listen to them instead.
I took my airpods out of my ears as I approached the free library because I wasn’t listening to anything or tuning anybody out. If I hadn’t taken my airpods out at that moment, I wouldn’t have heard what was coming for me next. The Universe was warning me; Lauren, listen up. The library door creaked when I opened it. Then I heard four feet sprinting down a nearby staircase, accompanied by a deeply low and scary growl. I wasn’t sure what kind of animal was capable of making that noise. Maybe it was just a deranged human. The footsteps and growling got louder and closer. I looked up in time to see a ninety-pound Catahoula hunting dog take a running leaping right at me.
I’ve been bitten by a bottle-nosed dolphin, an ostrich, a turtle, an eel, and a few humans. But those were isolated bites, much different than being attacked or mauled. I put my arms up to block the dog mid-leap because he was going for my jugular. He bit through my hand instead. Then he came back for more. I used the bag of books as a shield, but he ripped it out of my grip; the handles broke, and all the books went flying, along with my phone and airpods. I screamed, “Help! Come get your dog!” while fending off more attacks. Finally, I heard human footsteps running down the same staircase. This woman was his owner.
“Gus! Drop it!” She shouted like I was a toy he shouldn’t be playing with. She tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen to her commands, and he wasn’t wearing a collar. Gus was trying to knock me to the ground, and I knew if I let him, it’d be checkmate for me. She was able to put him in a headlock, but he got out of her grasp and launched another aerial attack. I could tell he wouldn’t be satisfied until he bit my face off. I put my left leg up to block him this time, and he bit a chunk of flesh out of my thigh. His thirst for blood was unquenchable. Somehow the owner finally got him under control and brought him back upstairs.
Blood poured down my leg and arms, creating a puddle on the sidewalk beneath me. I was in shock. I looked down at my body to assess the damage. My yoga pants were ripped apart, and pieces of my body were missing. My left hand had some deep puncture wounds, but I thought at least it wasn’t my writing hand.
This dog was so incredibly lucky he attacked me and not an elderly person or a child because they would’ve easily been murdered. What Gus didn’t realize is that he was fucking with a yellow belt in Karate. I also have hundreds of hours of Billy Blanks classes beneath my belt and could fully unleash some Tae Bo on his ass, but I have a strong rule against harming animals. The fight wasn’t fair anyways because he was using his teeth, and I don’t exactly go around biting random strangers.
Gus’s owner returned to the sidewalk with a first aid kit. We were both shaking. It was traumatic all around. She kept apologizing as she poured hydrogen peroxide over my wounds. I felt really lucky because this woman couldn’t have been more helpful. It was nice being attacked by a dog who had a friendly owner. I was preparing her to blame me, like, “Well, what were you wearing? A slab of meat?”
She wrapped my leg in gauze, but the blood seeped through instantly. I didn’t want to hobble home looking like I had a bloody maxi-pad taped to my leg. She offered to drive me to the Emergency Room, but I declined. I hadn’t been in anyone else’s car since Covid started, and I was still in shock and just wanted to go home. I told her I’d take a ride back to my place and figure it out from there. She asked if I wanted a bottle of wine, and I said yes, I would take a bottle of your fanciest red. She ran inside and brought back a nice bottle of Malbec from Argentina.
She dropped me off at home and gave me her contact information. I hobbled up my stairs and was greeted by my dog Perci, who could care less about the blood spewing out of my body. I played fetch with his toy hedgehog as I made calls to friends and neighbors to help me out.
My neighbor drove me to Urgent Care in the new Mercedes I helped her pick out a few weeks earlier, and I tried really hard not to leak blood on her new leather seats. Thankfully, she went with brown instead of white. I spent three hours in Urgent Care, the one place I’d been actively avoiding throughout Covid. But it wasn’t all bad; there were a lot of positives, as in a lot of positive coronavirus patients. I seemed to be the only one in there who didn’t have Covid. Entire families were being consolidated into small rooms, and I got my own room next to their Oxygen supply closet. They trusted me near the oxygen, and that’s not lost on me.
I passed the time by searching for Gus’s Instagram page. I found it and took a bunch of screenshots to show people what my attacker looked like. I’m glad I grabbed the screenshots when I did because while I was sitting in Urgent Care, his owners made his account private. I got what I needed, and then I blocked him. I’ve only blocked one other animal on Instagram, a Kangaroo named Roger, who was extremely problematic.
I returned home to what looked like a gruesome murder scene. Blood covered my kitchen and sink and floors. I opened the bottle of red wine Gus’s owner gave me and took a huge sip. And just like that, Dry January was over.