When I was a tyke, maybe 9 or 10 years old, we lived in Army housing in Heidelberg, West Germany. In those late 60s, early 70s parents would let’s kids stay out in the housing vicinity to all hours of the night, and I was hanging out with some friends in one of the stairwells. One of the kids Schafferhunds was hanging out with us and I was petting him and he casually turned around and bit the crap outta my forearm, toothmarks, blood, whole nine yards .
Know what everybody did about it? Mom cleaned it up (merthiolate, of course), bandaged it and dad told me “son, don’t assume all dogs are friendly”… And that was it. All of it, nothing else happened. Weird, huh?
I don’t think parents knew anything back then….
