September 22, 2008 When the Dog Bites

“Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:10 (NIV)

Many years ago, my husband was pouring concrete with his father and needed the screed board—a two-by-four used as a leveling device-- he’d left at another job. There was some chitchat about the homeowner’s bad dog between the men, but a key phrase--Do not go inside the gate if no one’s home-- didn’t make it into my consciousness.

As our three oldest children and I headed off in the van to fetch the board (our two-year-old was “helping” Daddy and Grandpa) eight-year-old Caleb noticed a small white card. In an attempt to memorize scripture, I had ordered memory cards from the Navigators and happened to be working on the verse shown above. Caleb “tested” me to see if I knew it; it was a nice moment of sharing truth with the kids. If only I’d known what we were about to encounter…

Pulling up to the residence, I noted the security fence and “Beware of Dog” sign. No cars, but no dog either. A chain from a porch post appeared to lead inside the house—I assumed the dog was there, perhaps taking a nap. My experience with dogs up to that point was that if you stay calm and speak softly, they’re all pretty manageable. My experience up to that point was, shall we say, inadequate preparation?

Caleb and I went inside the gate, which I latched behind me out of sheer habit. Just as we passed the house, an enormous dog bounded out of nowhere—an enormous trained guard dog that’d paid attention during the “Scaring Away Harmless People and Small Children” class. I tried the calm voice routine to no avail and barking gave way to nipping, the dog jumping at me multiple times. Caleb, bless his heart, stood his ground. “Let’s get out of here!” I shouted.

I headed for the gate while Caleb attempted to climb over the fence. Closing the gate so the dog couldn’t escape, I saw he was still jackknifed over the fence--the dog had bitten the hem of his jeans just as he was about to make it. I pulled him over; we rushed to the van, and assessed the damage. One of my hands was bleeding, an upper arm. More disconcerting was the fact that blood began to seep through my shirt.

Nothing seemed serious until Caleb said quietly, “My leg feels funny.” Lifting the material up, I gasped. His jeans weren’t torn, but his leg was--a huge three-sided flap of skin perhaps a half-inch thick hung loose.

Within minutes, the girls were watching television in the emergency room waiting area while nurses and doctors attended to Caleb and me. We were put in beds separated by a curtain, but Caleb was moved beside me when it became evident he was scared—he’d watched just enough medical dramas to be wary of the heart monitor. If the line went flat, he’d die. If he went to sleep, he might not wake up.

Lying there in the aftermath of a terrorizing morning, I knew I needed to calm my son’s fears, but how? Through the haze of more immediate, frightening memories, I pulled up our initial drive. “Do you remember the memory verse you looked at?” I asked Caleb. “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills removed…though the guard dog bites…God’s unfailing love is never shaken.” He relaxed a little, and we continued to talk until the doctor arrived.

Caleb’s leg is scarred—the skin was too damaged for stitches to “take”—but because of God’s love expressed through his word, his heart is not. Instead of growing up fearful of dogs and any sudden danger, he is currently a sergeant with a police department, even a member of the SWAT team. And he still relies on the fact that when everything around him is chaos and terror, God’s love prevails.
Ellen Gillette is a freelance writer in Lillington, North Carolina and owns two very large dogs.