And if I Sound Strange, Don’t Get Alarmed

Let me see. What’s the best but least alarming way to begin this post? Let’s try:

Mom, thanks for packing me band-aids. I wish they had been a little bigger?

or how about:

Dad, I’m starting to understand why you dislike dogs so much?

or maybe:

Since I live in Germany, you might be a little confused if I were to tell you I had been mauled by a German Shepherd. Make no mistake: this thing had a tail and not a hooked stick.

This one certainly won’t work:

Does anyone know the number for 911 in Berlin?

OK, but really, I’m fine. I’m not even completely sure it was a bite. So I probably don’t have rabies.

Here’s the thing.

I was jogging along the Berliner Mauerweg, or the Berlin-Wall-Way, which is just south of my apartment and really is where the Berlin Wall ran, separating the Southern part of West Berlin from Russian-controlled Brandenburg. It’s kind of a cool place to jog.

It’s funny, I never imagined I’d be a member of the select group of people who have been attacked by a German Shepherd while running towards the Berlin Wall.



There are very few joggers in this part of the city, mostly because everyone here is old. Seriously, I’m not trying to brag, but, jogging, I have passed several people riding bikes. Going the same direction as I was.

Being Berlin, there are, however, a lot of dogs. Berliners love their dogs. They take them on the U-Bahn. They take them into stores. They take them to parties. They take them into restaurants.

So when I saw a man and a woman with two big dogs coming towards me on the path, I didn’t think much of it.

Then the big black dog started to veer towards me in a a way that unsettled me, instinctively. But it was the German Shepherd that turned out to be the real problem.

As I attempted to jog past this ferocious pack, it jumped me.

I suddenly felt a great weight on my left side and a sharp pain in my left hip.

The woman, who ought to be put to sleep, swooped in and pulled the dog off me, shouting something like “Sei nicht Wahnsinnig!”, which means, “Don’t be insane!” I assume she was talking to the dog. But, and here’s a fun fact, evidently German Shepherds, even German German Shepherds, don’t speak German!

I stopped, but I didn’t take out my headphones. I pulled up my shorts to examine the spot where I felt like I had been stabbed.

To my surprise, there was no gaping wound where my leg used to be, no gush of blood. It just looked like a scratch.

Then I looked at the woman.

“Ist etwas passiert?”, she asked, “Did anything happen?”

The people who say there’s no such thing as a dumb question never met this lady. Or some of my students. But that’s another thing.

So what does a person do? I couldn’t vent my spleen, not because I don’t know those German words (they were some of the most fun to learn), but because, as it is every day, I couldn’t process what she was saying and formulate a response fast enough. I’m *still* trying to formulate a proper German response to that, the dumbest of all possible questions. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I thought she spoke English. Almost certainly in a way I would later regret.

Instead I tried as hard as I could to murder her, her dogs, and her whole family with my eyes. Thank God there’s a difference between malice and violence, or I’d be molding in a German prison right now. Thank God I don’t have the power Drew Barrymore had in Firestarter. Thank God my face is attached to my body and can’t go leaping on people and tearing their throats out willy-nilly.

Then, when my visual assassination attempt failed, I turned around and continued on my way. My leg continued to hurt until I got home. By then, it was bleeding and bruised and I could see a distinct bite-shape. But what was I going to do? I don’t even know the number for the police—and what would they do anyway? Is there a leash law in Berlin? If so, I would say fewer than 50% of the people follow it.

Meine Damen und Herren, I know you love dogs. Everyone does! What kind of a Scrooge could hate dogs? Inconceivable! Just because the little ones are annoying, the big ones are dangerous, and the whole bunch of them are filthy, that doesn’t mean that each and every one of them isn’t a precious gift. After all, their incessant demands make you feel needed! Their constant urge violently to repel harmless strangers makes you feel safe! And most importantly, their tiny brains make it impossible for them to judge you for your flaws, which are undoubtedly few!

The difference between dogs and guns is that guns don’t decide on their own to wound passersby.

No matter what one thinks of dogs, it’s obvious that what happened to me was the owner’s fault. I just hope I see her around someday so I can practice my face-fu on her again.

Anyway, that was Friday, and I guess it's pretty safe to say now that I don't have rabies, and I won't need any medical attention. And I went jogging again on Sunday, just to show the dangerous world who's boss. But I must say I'm a lot more skittish now.