The Attack

I am going to preface this a little bit. This isn't the normal light hearted banter I usually post. I just didn't really have anywhere else to post this and felt that I wanted to. My dog (a 110 pound akita) attacked me this morning and has to be put to sleep because of it. I didn't really know how to sort out my feelings so I just wrote this a little while ago to try to convey what I am going through. It probably doesn't do a good job and I don't blame you if you skip this post, but I needed to post it.

I don't even really know how to start. I feel weak. I feel so selfish. I know that I didn't do anything wrong. The dog attacked me, and not the other way around. I am the one with seven punctures and five stitches. I am the one that is bleeding. He is the one being put down. But I love that dog, and right now, he is down stairs waiting to be taken away, and I can't find it in myself to even go down and say goodbye. My last memory of him will be him latched on to my wrist refusing to let go. His gnashing teeth going after me as I tried my best to hold him away from me. Our clumsy dance of blood teeth and hair. I know we can't deal with this anymore. If it had been anyone but me, I wouldn't hesitate in the least to have him put down. I would take him myself. I would want it to be me that had to take him. But it was me that got bitten and I honestly can't muster up the courage to be in the same room with him again. And I feel like such a coward for that. I feel weak. I feel selfish. I know in an hour or so he will be gone and my chance to say goodbye, to at least feel like I forgave him enough to be able to pet him and not hold hard feelings toward him. But I simply can't do it.

And now he's gone. My last chance went along with him. Instead I am left with my bandaged arm, a large spot of blood on the floor and hating myself for the fear I hold. I don't know what to do. The tears keep coming. They come in stride with the throbbing pain from my arm. But still. I feel selfish. I feel weak. I can't believe that when the time came for this, I couldn't find it in myself to be there, to say goodbye. And I know that to him it probably wouldn't make an ounce of difference if I told him that I forgave him, if I patted his head one more time, if I told him I loved him. But it does make a difference to me. For me to know that I couldn't even face him again to say goodbye at the end makes me feel absolutely worthless.

I feel weak.

I feel selfish.