In 8th Grade I was the Set Director for the School Musical, a family friendly version of Once Upon A Mattress. As a gift for all my hard work, I was given a Cast t-shirt with the title "Set Director" scrolled on the back. I loved it. It made me feel so special.
I was leaving school late on one of the last days of school, and I started walking across the upper field to take the path through the woods, which was actually forbidden because apparently drug deals took place in the woods there, but I was tired and it was the fastest way home. I had gotten maybe ten feet onto the field when I saw a massive dog, a mutt that must have been at least part Saint Bernard. It saw me and began galloping towards me. I made the fatal mistake of taking a step back. It took that as a sign I was going to fight, or something. It reached forward and grabbed my precious shirt with its mouth, tearing it. Then it lunged forward again, this time sinking it's teeth into my left thigh, just above my knee.
By this time the owner (dogwalker?) had caught up and grabbed the dog by the collar, pulling it away and smacking it on the head. She asked me if I wanted to come over to her house to get cleaned up. No way in hell was I going anywhere with that beast from Hell. I shook my head, unable to talk. Here's what I should have done. I should have turned around and gone back into the school. I should have asked if the monster was current on all its shots. But I didn't.
I walked as fast as I could across the field and up through the trees. I couldn't breathe. I got to the top. I would never make it home without breathing. I thought about turning left and going to Sam Thrope's house. But what if he wasn't home? I'd never met his parents. And I couldn't breathe. The world was spinning. I had to get home. I crossed Gray Street and stumbled onto Oakland Ave. Maybe I could knock on someone's door and they would let me call my mother. I couldn't breathe. How could I talk. I got to Park Ave. I was almost home. I began to breathe. The monster was far behind. It wasn't following me. A few more blocks and I was home. I told my mother what had happened and she called 911.
The police officer showed up a short time later. He got angry with me when I told him I didn't think to ask if it had been vaccinated for rabies. I tried to explain that I couldn't talk, couldn't think. He told us they would look for the dog, but in the meantime, I would have to get rabies shots. The officer left and my mother called Harvard Vanguard, which back then was still Harvard Community Health Plan or Harvard Pilgrim, something like that. They told my mother they could squeeze me in and I wouldn't have to go to the ER.
Upon arrival at my Pediatrician's Office, she informed me that rabies shots no longer had to be delivered in the stomach. However, the first one would need to be delivered in the bite itself and one in the butt. Then every other week for eight weeks in the arm. She put the needle in the bite and couldn't get all the liquid in, so she took it out partway, re-positioned it, and put it back in. It hurt. I was so embarrassed about the shot in my butt. It was my first that I remember.
The Police and my mom looked for the dog, but the owner must have changed where she took the dog because she did not return to that field for the next few weeks. I got my shots. Years later, I saw the dog in a different part of Arlington Heights. I started to panic until I saw it was on a leash. I was on my way to High School and just kept walking. I never saw the dog after that.
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