By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
As a skilled lawyer, I expertly handle many difficult, unique, and unusual matters for my clients. I do so with confidence and poise, teaching myself the relevant legal references and consulting with my clients after an exchange of appropriate consideration.
None of these matters compare, however, to a recent bizarre dog bite case with which I was unexpectedly involved. In fact, I was the victim.
Among other conceits, I fancy myself a dog whisperer, able to make an amicable connection with each and every member of the species Canis lupus familiaris. Yet, ‘tis folly. As evidence, I submit the operative facts of the dog bite day in question.
It was a warm mid-summer evening, just about an hour or so before sunset. My lovely wife and I were out for a stroll in our quaint suburban neighborhood in the shadows of Utah’s Wasatch Mountains. After just a few steps outside our front door, we saw our neighbors, who were out walking their two dogs. Both (i.e. the dogs) were on leashes and under control, as required by the local animal control ordinances and constables.
After an exchange of pleasantries and small talk, I asked about the two dogs. I had not met the animals, but from a side window in our home I had seen both before, in their back yard. Our neighbors told me their names (changed here to protect the innocent and the guilty): Buddy and Nemesis.
Buddy immediately wagged his tail and sniffed my hand. Nemesis stood back warily and stared at me, silent. I asked about Nemesis.
My neighbors reported that Nemesis is a rescue dog, wary of strangers due to past unfortunate human encounters. They held him away from me, but I ignored the warnings and reached out anyway, unduly confident I could bond with him due to my dog whisperer superpowers.
Nemesis would have none of it. He nipped at my hand to warn me off. I got the message, and my wife and I continued on our walk. I soon noticed that during the delivery of his warning, two of Nemesis’s teeth had punctured my skin. I was bleeding.
My wife advised me to seek medical help. I was reluctant. I have nothing against doctors personally, I just never want to see one professionally if I can avoid it. Moreover, the whole mess was my fault for ignoring the dog owners’ warnings. The wounds were small and I felt fine.
Then I googled the possible side effects of untreated dog bites. According to one website, these can include boils, oozing blisters, urinary tract infections, hallucinations, and even hydrophobia (fear of water). I do not like to ooze, and I did not aspire to a life without water, so I gave in and submitted myself to a thorough examination by a member of the medical profession.
The visit went better than I feared, at least initially. The good news came early—the wait was short and I did not have to wear that blue backless paper gown that confirms to any casual observer that you do not exercise regularly. The doctor cleaned the wound without incident and gave me a tetanus shot, which did not hurt. So far so good.
Then the doctor announced that they had to report the dog and the bite to the authorities. I objected, explaining how it all was my fault. My objection was overruled. I had to explain the situation to the neighbors, who received a visit from the authorities and had to confine Nemesis.
Both the animal control authorities and my treating physician warned us, in strong terms, to note any strange behavior from Nemesis the dog during the quarantine period, which would in turn indicate a possible infection for me. We all watched and waited.
I nervously peered out of our side window from time to time, observing Buddy and Nemesis frolicking in their back yard. I did not have any outward signs of an infection, but strange dog behavior did appear.
In fact, not in our worst nightmares could my wife, the authorities, my doctor, my neighbors, or I have imagined the strange behavior that unfolded.
Nemesis started strutting around his back yard with a puffed out chest and a new sense of outsized confidence and poise.
I noticed the covers of several reference books had been chewed up and tossed around the neighbors’ yard, their contents apparently (and literally) devoured.
On several occasions, a long line of other dogs appeared outside our neighbor’s fence gate, with my antagonist on the interior side. Some sort of canine communication occurred through the small opening between the gate and fence. There were barely audible barks, grunts, and growls. An exchange of kibble or Milk-Bones typically followed.
Then, one day, a handwritten sign appeared above the gate. The scrawled message shocked me—in part because I did not know dogs could either read or write—but primarily because of the words on the message itself. It said: “Dog Bite Defense Here.” I was horrified.
Immediately, I recalled a relevant precedent I had read to my children during my extensive efforts to educate them about the law. In J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Albus Dumbledore warned Harry that a part of Voldemort was inside him, “Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar.”
I gasped, and said to myself, “Dear Lord, can it be true? Had an unintended exchange of precious bodily fluids and professional acumen occurred on that fateful day when Nemesis bit my hand?” My anguished question remains unanswered.
These days my mind is racked with strife and confusion. What sort of monster have I created? Can the world support yet another ambitious attorney? Can I bear the competition if Nemesis branches out his burgeoning practice to include employment or media law? Can the locals afford the exorbitant doggie-treat fees Nemesis charges? Will Nemesis leave a “calling card” behind after a court appearance? Should I report my neighbor’s pet to the Utah State Bar for credential registration and regulation?
Worse yet, I worry constantly about the possible latent and yet unrevealed effects on me…about the proverbial infection tail wagging the human dog. Will I drool more? Will I shed? Will I start greeting clients and colleagues by sniffing their (well, I think you know what I mean)? Forget the ambulance-chasing stereotype, will I howl at the sirens as they pass by?
Only time will tell. For now, I am haunted by one agonizing regret—why didn’t I listen to the countless friends and mentors in the legal profession who, for many years, have warned me about dog bite cases?
*Mike O’Brien (author website here) is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. His book Monastery Mornings (found here), about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, was published by Paraclete Press (more information here) in August 2021.
