Like every older American male that was once a paperboy, I got bit a few times, but never got hurt bad enough by a dog to have to go to the doc's. It was always the smaller dogs that bit me, like one Pomeranian that would hide in the bushes and nail me from behind on the Achilles's tendon and break the skin. Quite painful.
Finally one day I caught him running across the open yard to get to his ambush spot. I flung the heavy Wednesday paper full of grocery store ads his direction and my lead was spot on. That newspaper weighed more than he did, and knocked him sideways tumbling a couple of yards. After that he never got within 20 feet of me and barely even barked at me.
The worst bite I got was from a Cocker Spaniel that had never been aggressive towards me, but was standing next to the owner this particular day and nailed me as I handed the man his paper.
The bite broke the skin and ripped the bottom of my pant-leg half off. The owner and I were both rather stunned. I was halfway down the block continuing my route before I realized that the owner hadn't really even apologized, and he also didn't offer to buy me a new pair of pants, then, or later when I came to collect for the monthly subscription.
My parents weren't too pleased, mostly about the ruined pants, but they were so used to me or one of my three brothers coming through the door nearly every day banged up and bruised from some mishap that nothing was said or done about it. We were always current on our Tetanus shots, anyway, from frequent trips to the doc for stitches or other injuries, so it was just another day in the life of adventurous boys.
Last edited by nifty-two-fifty; 05/25/15.
