This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own.

Health & Fitness

It's a Dog's Life

How to be a dog lover and not get bit. Literally.

There have been a couple interesting and seemingly contradictory news articles in the past few days, here on the Plainfield Patch and in our neighboring communities.

Let’s start with the warm-fuzzy.

Rufio, a 145-pound Neapolitan mastiff, was the unofficial ambassador at last weekend’s Hawg Night in downtown Plainfield. I happened to attend the event, and while I didn’t make Rufio’s acquaintance, I did marvel at him from across the street.

Find out what's happening in Plainfieldwith free, real-time updates from Patch.

For me, it is always amazing to see a dog larger than my own 130-pound Great Pyrenees.

As with most giant breeds, people have one of two extreme reactions. They stay as far away as possible from something large enough to bite through their thigh as if it were a chicken wing, or they can’t wait to get up close and personal with a massive, furry hunk of love. I understand both reactions because at varying points in my life, I have fallen into both camps. 

Find out what's happening in Plainfieldwith free, real-time updates from Patch.

When I was young, despite having a full-size German Shepherd as a family member, I had an intense fear of most dogs. Particularly large dogs. My cousins had a mastiff with whom I had an understanding. If Jeremy, a completely ridiculous name for a beast that size, was in the house, I was outside and vice versa.

There were many holiday celebrations at my cousins' that were not the joyous, carefree occasions for me that they were for everyone else. 

It didn’t matter that my then 5-year-old cousin would body-slam the beast to get him out of the doorway so she could pass through, with the only reaction on the dog’s part being to sheepishly sidle out of the way. I just had issues with a dog who had a head to rival the 20-plus-pound turkey being served for dinner.

The fact that he could lower his head to rest his chin on the dining room table may also have had something to do with it.

My grandparents had a dog that I kept my distance from as well, though not because of its size. They had a lhasa apso and, it may be Freudian, but I simply cannot remember its name. What I do remember is it was mean, it would pee on your feet while you were sitting at the kitchen table, and my grandmother would cook boneless, skinless chicken breasts and scrambled eggs for its meals.

My issues with dogs, however, did not extend to our family dog, Tiger. Perhaps it was because we got him at eight weeks old and he was about the same size as our then 4-month-old cat. By the time Tiger was a year old, he was completely trained and obeyed every member of the family, including then-9-year-old me.

When I was 11, our neighborhood festival was going to have a “Best Trained Dog” competition as part of the roster of activities. I got it into my head that our dog was the smartest, cutest and sweetest dog around, and so I signed up.

His tricks went way beyond the standard sit, stay, down, come and heel. He would take a dog biscuit from my lips without leaving so much as a drop of slobber behind. I would say “dance,” and he would put his front paws on my shoulders, head towering above me, stepping forward on his hind legs as I stepped back.

That trick was probably the clincher, because not only did I win for my age group, I won the whole competition. I have vague recollections of people, adults, being less than gracious that a little kid won.

Just a few short months later was Thanksgiving at my cousins' house, and once again, if Jeremy was inside, I was on the porch. Then it was off to my grandparents' house, where their lhasa apso terrorized me and peed on my feet.

Now to the other news item in the area, the not so warm-fuzzy.

A bull mastiff bit the face of a 6-year-old child. Luckily, the child will make a full recovery, though he did spend four days in intensive care due to complications. The child will have permanent scars on his face and is incredibly lucky the bite went in about an inch below his eye.

As bad as that is, the story gets worse.

This attack occurred at an animal control shelter. The child was there, accompanying his father while the father was fulfilling community service. The dog was there because it had chased and bit a mailman, causing such a serious injury that 50 stitches were required in the man’s arm.

To further compound this tragedy, it seems there was more than one bull mastiff at this shelter at the time, and the wrong dog was euthanized. Then, in a twist too bizarre to make up, the animal that had already bit two people was "adopted" out by another family.

Weeks had gone by until the error was discovered, at least by the animal control authority, according to the mother of the child who was bitten. The family brought him back to the shelter, and on Monday morning, the acting authority at the animal control shelter had the dog euthanized. It was the acting authority who witnessed and reported this because the original director of the shelter has been put on administrative leave for the errors, though with pay.

There is now quite an understandable uproar in that community about how the shelter is being run, the changes in policies that have been put into effect, and ultimately who is responsible. All of these things will take time to sort out, and I’m sure whatever the solution, it will not have unanimous support.

While reading these articles, my eyes can’t help but stray to the application to be a volunteer at the Will County Humane Society I have sitting on my desk, all filled out and ready to go. I hasten to add this is not the shelter where the above events took place.

My intention had been to volunteer a few hours a month helping look after, walk and even clean up after the dogs at the shelter. I’ve watched one too many late night commercials with Sarah McLachlan talking about the state of the thousands of unwanted animals languishing in shelters to not act.

I have been working hard trying to convince my family that I won’t bring home every animal that tugs at my heart strings, which will be every one I lay eyes on. I now also have to convince them that I won’t end up in an emergency room or worse.

The toughest conversation, though, will be with my kids. I have to find a way to convince them that most people who choose to work with animals do so out of an abiding love for all God’s creatures, particularly those who have been so unfortunate as to end up in a shelter.

I have to somehow, in spite of the evidence to the contrary as shown in these recent events, show that those in positions of power over these animals care more for the animals than they do for their paychecks.

The problems at that shelter cannot be laid at the door step of just one person. I do not know any of the people involved, nor have I ever even visited that particular shelter. The system failed on so many levels that there is blame and shame to spare. For this reason, I have declined from naming names.

I assure you, it would be a much easier conversation with my kids to say it is all the fault of one person, remove that one person, and move on.

In the meantime, if I happen to be watching late night TV and hear the first bars of Sarah McLaclan's "Angel," I'll be switching the channel.

We’ve removed the ability to reply as we work to make improvements. Learn more here

The views expressed in this post are the author's own. Want to post on Patch?