Responsibilities

I love dogs. I have two and they're as close to kids as I'll ever have. My dogs are far from perfect, but I'd like to believe that I've done a pretty good job at training them and giving them the skills and respect to be decent companions. I can predict their moves most times, and I care enough about them to make sure that I can control them pretty much always.

Tonight I had a terrifying experience, not because of my dogs, but because of someone else's. I am still shaking as I type, and if I ever get the knotted muscles in my calves to untie it might be a miracle.

I rushed home from work today eager to get some time in on the road bike. I haven't ridden for a couple of days due to annoying schedules and a sore back. Tonight I was feeling pretty decent and I was pretty sure I could get in a couple of hours on the road, cook supper, and maybe even shower before Troy got home.

I debated which route to take - hills, hills, or hills? I hadn't gone down the Ashdale Road yet this year, so I thought those hills, although brutal, would make for a good workout. I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth to tide over my grumbly tummy, threw on some spandex and hit the pavement.

I was feeling pretty good tonight, attacking the hills without dying, no asthma wheezing whatsoever, and despite a pretty solid headwind, I felt like I actually had some speed. I turned onto the Ashdale Road, tucked in, and hammered, dodging pavement patches and potholes on the way. Then, about 1/2 way up the road, I heard every roadie's worst nightmare... a big dog barking furiously and getting closer fast.

Right about the time I heard the dog, I was started up another hill. Not a big hill, but big enough to prevent me from outrunning a large and determined dog. Normally I'd put some muscle into the pedals and get the hell out of there, but I knew this time the monster that was tearing up the pavement behind me would catch me. I looked back and noted the breed.

Chocolate labs are goofy, energetic, rambunctious, but I have yet to meet one that's vicious. Thinking it would be smart to thwart the prey drive, I unclicked my right pedal and stopped. The dog brushed past my leg, spun around, and then ran back in the other direction to the pre-pubescent boy who was screaming at the top of his lungs. I waited until the dog was back at his young master's side, shook my head condescendingly, and clicked back into my pedals to continue my ride. Damn people letting their dogs run loose!

No sooner had I gotten back up to speed than I heard the kid yelling bloody murder. I barely had time to look behind me before a massive pile of brown fur leapt from the pavement and knocked me to the ground. The dog tore off ahead, and once again spun around and ran back to his frantic owner.

Stunned, I unclipped from the bike and picked myself up from the hard asphalt, noting the bruises and welts immediately rising from my legs. Quick survey, no blood save a little road rash. I stood in a daze in the middle of the road while ten feet away the geeky looking kid screamed at the dog by his side, kicking him in the ribs and pummeling his head with clenched fists. I knew I should say something but the shock of the situation made me unable to move or speak. I stared in horror at the little dervish flailing at the cringing dog.

Suddenly I snapped out of my delirium. "Stop!", I yelled, "It's not his fault! That's no way to treat your dog, stop!" The kid stopped punching and looked at me with an expression that made me wonder if he even knew what he had done. "I'm sorry," he moaned and as his lower lip quivered he started crying.

I don't know what overtook me next. I lectured the kid on controlling his dog, keeping his dog away from the road, but most of all earning his dog's respect by training him and working with him to reward him for good behaviour instead of beating him when he was bad. The whole time the poor kid continued to cry and blurt out "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do, I'm sorry." The dog cowered on the road and the kid collapsed to his knees, bawling his eyes out with his face buried in the now docile dog's fur.

My brain went blank and I just wanted to go home. The kid was crying but it was obvious he was subdued. The dog looked totally unmotivated to chase me any further.

"Get some help training your dog", I told the kid. "He needs it. And don't let him run into the road anymore. I'm ok, I'm not seriously hurt, but he might really hurt the next person."

Then I swung a leg over my bike and continued up the road - for 2 whole minutes until the cramping started. The muscles knotted in my calves so intensely that I had to stop riding 5 times to walk out the cramps. One of those times I fell off the bike again, unable to unclip on a hill when the muscles spasmed intensely.

I was 5 km or so from home when I started to feel sick to my stomach. traumatized by the actions of the dog, the actions of the child and even worse, questioning my own actions. Did I do the right thing? Maybe I should have talked to his parents. Maybe they'd have put the dog down and beaten the kid. Maybe I should have offered to help the kid train the dog. Maybe I should have just kept riding, Maybe... so many maybes.

All I wanted tonight was some exercise, a peaceful ride in the country with some sweat and self-induced pain. Now I hurt physically in ways I hadn't imagined, but it's nothing compared to the mental agony of not knowing whether or not anything will change for the better.

What if that kid thinks he should beat a bad dog because his parents beat him when he's bad? What if they shoot the dog because he's dangerous and out of control?

I am disturbed tonight, and it's not because of the bruising on my legs and arms or the cramping in my muscles. I am disturbed by the what-ifs. That, I suppose, is the curse of being a responsible adult. I want to make everything better, for the kid, for the dog, and for me. And instead I can only wonder...

"What if..."?

It's going to be a restless night.