Two men who belonged to that unleashed large dog ran after Foxie as I lay on the curb and screamed and screamed for them to get my dog. Meanwhile the young woman with the two men and the unleashed dog, wrestled the big dog back into the car, assisted me off the ground and helped me limp to a bench in front of the burger bar where the unhappy event was taking place.
The following two days, Foxie continued to favor his left back leg. Lacking the courage to wait any more days to look for improvement, I thought we needed to visit the vet for an x-ray. Foxie's leg was swollen and he couldn’t put weight on it, but no fracture. The vet said not to walk him so much for a while, feed him fiber, like broccoli and carrots, dose him with a pain and anti-inflammatory pill for four days and check back if he doesn’t improve. No one at the vets would say whether the scratch on my wrist was a dog bite or the result of being clawed. It is healing. My right knee and thigh are also healing.
In the meantime, although initially terrified and traumatized, Foxie and I agreed to wait until the desire to tell our most dramatic story had quieted. Because the offending animal is a breed much maligned, and I have had special reasons in the past to love particular dogs of this breed – my son’s dogs, Leeloo and Otto, I hold the irresponsible owners responsible for what happened to us that night. I wish the dog had been on a leash and someone had been holding the leash. And I wish I had taken their names and addresses or they had offered them so they could pay the vet’s bill. That would have made what looks like it will be a happy ending, even happier.