Okay, so if there's one thing that's abundantly clear about Eastern Kentucky, it's that there are a lot of dogs and very few fences. Last night, one of the guys at the house told us about his rendezvous with a dozen different dogs on our block while he was riding his bike last week. His delivery was hysterical but, seriously, it poses a threat if you're traveling outside of a covered vehicle.
With the tale of the hounds of Jackson County still in my head, I decided to go for a walk by our Gray Hawk offices today while I was waiting for Judy to pick me up. I figured, "Hey, it's right by a main drag. No one will have their dogs left unattended."
I should break now to apologize to Patrick, my younger brother, with whom I was speaking when I saw the pitbull. I believe I was in the middle of telling him how much fun he'll have when he visits when I saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw this thing charging at me from across a creek.
So, forgetting everything I've ever learned about dog safety and wishing like hell that I'd brought my pepper spray, I ran. And I stayed on the phone with poor Patrick, who was yelling, "YOU CAN'T OUTRUN IT." Well, I couldn't. I wheeled around and prepared to throw my bag down as a distraction when the dog jumped up, wagging his tail, and licked me (clearly, he had no knowledge of how difficult it is to get pawprints out of a cream peacoat with no dry cleaners around).
I calmed myself down and patted his head, praying to God that he would stay friendly. He must have only been one or two years old, because he really just wanted to play. I did for a little while, but I had to get back to the office. So I tried to lure him back to the driveway where I first saw him. This little project lasted fifteen minutes. And every time I tried to walk away, he seemed more determined to make me stick around. Finally, he jumped up and nipped my hand. Enough's enough, I thought. Where on earth can I go to escape this demanding mongrel?
And then a light from the heavens shone down on the old Baptist church across the way. I briefly stopped to think how I would explain to someone inside why a Catholic girl from New York was cowering in one of their pews, but as my new friend continued to circle me, I figured I had no other option. I walked over as quickly and as calmly as I could, Rover lunging at me the whole time. I got to the door, flung it open, and slammed it shut as he jumped up on it.
Honestly, I felt sorry for the poor thing. He kept jumping on the door and looking through the windows, and I could hear him crying. I hid out in there for a while, read some of their literature, and when the coast was clear I dashed out a side door and cut through the mud between the Reformed church and the volunteer fire house. Another dog (who, thankfully, was caged) started barking at me, and I yelled, "DON'T BLOW MY COVER" as I sprinted across the street and into the office. The lady behind the desk got a kick out of my terrified expression and muddy feet.
Moral of the story: If you're unable to outrun a dog, just keep doing paperwork.
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