Beware of Assheads

It all started innocently enough.

I rode to Wally World to get a couple of groceries, then called Em to see how the fort was holding up. Wal-Mart is too close, it's just not far enough to ride. Nothing I had required refrigeration, and the girls seemed to be contentedly wasting their Saturday afternoon in front of computer screens like a pair of vidiots.



Saw a cool old Honda 750 by the bike rack at Wal-Mart. I think I prefer being the motor on the cycle.

I'd dealt with a Realtor, worked on bills, taxes, and generally played Grownup all day, so I took the stuff from Wal-Mart for a ride in the country. It felt like it'd taken forever to get out on the bike, and realizing I was hungry, I had a burnt end sandwich, Carolina-style at Smokin' Babes. A bit of an indulgence, but I feared if I went home to grab a bite I somehow wouldn't get back out on the road.



It was windy, but not obnoxiously so. As I got into the unincorporated area, I moved the pepper spray from its holster to my chest pocket because, well, there's a reason I carry that shit: Farm Dogs.

I've never been officially diagnosed, but I guess I have some PTSD issues from seeing a childhood friend mauled by a German shepherd when I was maybe seven years old. By PTSD issues, I mean that intellectually I know that my reactions are disproportionate to the actual likely threat.

That said, a dog doesn't have to mean you harm to hurt you on a bicycle. They might just want to herd you, play with you, jump out in front of you. And when their heckles are up head to tail and they charge you snarling, that's when pepper spray is called for.

So I got to 135th Street on Moonlight and wanted to know if it was paved all the way to Gardner Road. It is, and beyond, but while I was learning this from a woman who was out mowing her lawn, her dog came out to run me off.

His body language wasn't friendly but he wasn't completely on the attack. I dismounted and kept the bike between me and him, got the spray out and did my best to talk him down.

"Okay, pup, I don't want to spray you, it'll wreck your day, but you're scaring me pretty good."

His owner kept calling him and assuring me he was utterly harmless. His hackles were sure up, and I waited until he was in hand before I attempted to get back on the bike, thanking her for the directions.



On the way across, I felt a bug in my hair. Creepy feeling as I went down a steep hill, and I feared it might be a tic about to dig in. I pulled over on a bridge and took my helmet off. It wasn't big enough or hard enough to be a tic, I don't think, but whatever it was I killed it and hand-combed my hair and generally grossed out.

I heard a crash in the trees and looked over to see a beaver coming out of a tree. He scurried to cover before I could get my camera out and even after I stood quietly for a bit, he didn't come back out to be photographed. So I sallied forth, thinking about that farm dog and how maybe I'm getting better at handling those situations.



Sure, he was big and all that, but I had my spray, noted the wind being at my back, and could reasonably have given him a powerful new Pavlovian template for thinking about bikes in the road. But I hadn't pulled the trigger.

Then, coming up Four Corners toward town, two of them, about as big as that earlier dog, were on me before I knew it. Heckles up and snapping at me. I kicked at them, made contact with the snout of one and got slobber all over my ankle, at which point they ran around to my left to see if I was a softer target from that angle.

It took me probably 100 yards or more to get clear of them, all the while screaming and cussing, the neighbor two doors down came out to see if I was okay.

She said her horse had been nipped at by those dogs and that they ran around like strays causing mayhem all over the neighborhood. No leash laws because it's out in the country, so it's just something she seemed to think she had to live with.

I told her I wished I could have gotten to my spray faster. I had my camera around my right wrist because I'd been taking pictures from the saddle a moment before all this, and they were so close when I realized they were there, all I could do was kick them.

Which is the thing that sucks about pepper spray, I can never seem to get to it when I need it.

As proud as I was of handling the first dog, I was disappointed, hearing these dogs are a general public nuisance, that I hadn't gassed them. The neighbor said they chase cars too, and they're such a constant problem she sometimes hopes they'll get run over.

I rode on and after a few minutes a car passed me and stopped in the road ahead of me. A man with a white ponytail got out and came back toward me as I approached saying, 'My dogs have never bothered anybody...'

Hello? Denial is the first sign you have a problem.

Just in case anyone reading this is an ignorant redneck with unleashed dogs running around his property: when a cyclist or pedestrian has been charged by your animals, don't expect them to be impressed with your assertion that they're friendly animals.

He told me if I didn't like dogs I shouldn't ride in the country, and I told him, in indelicate terms, that I have a right to ride my bicycle on a public road without being hassled by his animals.

He asked me if they'd bitten me, and I said it wasn't for lack of effort. They were the most aggressive dogs I've come across so far, most dogs back the hell off when you kick them hard in the snout.

He said there were no leash laws, and I said there should be because my right to travel the street safely trumps his right to let them run free. You can't have an un-penned bull, I pointed out, even though I bet there's no law that says so in as many words. At which point he said 'Or un-penned cyclists.' He said something about how he guessed it was a free country if I wanted to ride around with pink ribbons on my head.

Part of me craved this confrontation, but as angry as I was (and I was angry enough to physically fight, something I've never actually done in my adult life), it sucked. I'm no good at confrontations, I lose my cool and say things I shouldn't. And in hindsight, this jerk was actually surprised that I was angry.

His telling me where I should ride my bike, telling me not to take the Lord's name in vain and telling me his dogs never hurt anybody only enraged me further. And while there was some truth to it when he told me I was being unreasonable, I was right: a disproportionate response by me does not relieve him of his social obligation to keep his canines on his property.

And as I pointed out to him, he came to me. If he didn't like the way the conversation was going, maybe he should stay home and give some thought to controlling his dogs.

Postscript

At church the next day, the message was about what it means to love your neighbor. About how I shouldn't marginalize the guy with the dogs, but rather should pray for him. This is a hard one for me, because in my heart, I hoped that when he got home his dogs turned on him and ate him. Or mauled him badly, anyway. I admit that isn't a very Christ-like approach, but as it was pointed out, people who claim to know that one group is going to Hell never thing it's the group they're in.

I can tell from Facebook that I have at least two friends who have farm dogs and think I should just magically find dog-free routes if I want to ride in the country, and I guess I don't really wish for my friends' dogs to eat them so much as I wish they could see that people on bikes and afoot have a right to safely navigate a public road that is just as compelling as their perceived need of canine-provided security.

If living in the country is that dangerous, maybe they need razor wire and landmines around the property, which would have the added benefit of keeping the dogs out of the street.