Trauma, when it happens, is a life-long scar that never truly heals. The majority of people who have never experienced true trauma can’t understand the depth of that issue. This is aimed to try and close that gap in knowledge.
June of 1972. At the ripe old age of four, Danny was silently playing with a small push car in front of his friend’s house, two blocks away from his own home. He was waiting for Stevie, his four year old friend, to finish up breakfast so he could come outside to play.
From seemingly nowhere, Danny got tackled to the ground. From his point of view, the impossible long mouth and sharp teeth filled his vision. The pain was horrible. The sound of the attack added to that horror. No matter how hard Danny tried, he couldn’t get his head to stop being harshly yanked from side to side.
Then the attack was over.
Danny got up, screaming in pain, and ran all the way home, the toy push car abandoned. His mother screamed in shock at seeing so much blood on Danny’s face as he raced into his own house.
An hour later, Danny was on the surgery table at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Erie, Pennsylvania, getting his face sewn shut by a surgeon. He earned 47 stitches, from the corner of his intact eye all the way down to his chin.
This is not about the dog.
Defend dog, blame the owner, defend the owner, blame the dog, none of that is on topic here. What is on topic is the trauma. Why? Most of the population thinks they know the solution to such things. How to make it ‘better’ for the growing child. Which is utter bullshit.
Danny grew up to be me, Daniel A. Roberts. Yes, this is my personal trauma, and I have tried to defeat it on my own. It fails, all the time. Let me be brief about this. That attack has instilled a deep fear of dogs. Nothing will ever cure that fear.
And this is where most people fail to help. All suggestions never work. I myself have raised a puppy in my later years, hoping to defeat that sub-conscious trauma. It doesn’t work.
Tippy. Scruffy. Bozo. Three dogs, the third dog a rescue animal, raised by Daniel and cared for until they died. Tippy was killed by a car, and Daniel buried him. Scruffy got in a fight with a rabid squirrel, contracted rabies and had to be shot. Bozo died of old age.
Do not be mistaken. Daniel loved those dogs. He properly cared for them, played with them, had a great relationship. None of that eased the deep rooted trauma. Each and every time Daniel sees a strange dog, in public or private, the fear response kicks into high gear.
Why didn’t raising his own dogs from puppies to end of life not work? One might think it would. I have heard the suggestions before. “Own a dog, care for it and raise it, that fear will go away.” Um, no, it won’t. I didn’t fear the dogs I raised.
I fear strange dogs I don’t know.
It’s a lot like PTSD. War vets who flinch at the sound of a bang from a short distance away will know what I am talking about. That is like telling them to listen to bang sounds for a few years, it will heal and go away. Which is utter bullshit as well. PTSD doesn’t heal like that.
It takes therapy. Counseling. Discussions. Even then, the fear is never truly gone.
Trauma doesn’t respond to rational efforts.
My message today to dog lovers is clear. Love and care for your animal, but keep the dog on a leash. Keep it away from young innocent children. Your little darling that wouldn’t hurt a fly could very well traumatize a defenseless child.
I should know.
The owners of the dog that attacked me said the same thing about their little darling that wouldn’t hurt any kid. The kid must have done something bad to make the dog bite. Which is always the counter. Blame the kid who never saw the dog coming for a tackle and face mauling.
Playing with a toy push car must have made me seem evil. I guess.
My trauma is life long. I will die with it.
So please, be responsible with your pet dogs and spare a child the horror and fear that will never heal. Thank you for your time and consideration.
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