The Year of the Dog Bite

Except for the dog bite and the Friday night rainstorm, it was the loveliest lakeside camping weekend we’ve ever had in the half-dozen or so years we’ve been doing this. We started with just a couple of families, then twice a year, in April and October, the prettiest times in southern Georgia.

It’s such a pretty place, such good company. Most of those attending are members of the same church, then add a few in-laws and grandparents, plus some folks who have moved away from Fayette County and meet us at the lake.

And as soon as we get home each late Sunday afternoon, we make a mad dash for our computers to reserve our sites for next time. There were 60 campers last week.

Except for the dog bite, the weekend was pretty much as expected.

Considering the alternatives, “as expected” is a welcome phrase. With this crew, that means a range of ages and health, sizes and gear. From toddlers to grandmas, tots to teens, hot dogs to the most sophisticated outdoor cooking trailer you’ve ever seen.

Someone remarked that he hadn’t known what to expect. What does Edmund Shaefer Corps of Engineers Campground offer? Mountain trails? No. A great beach? No. A cliff to climb? Horses? No, no, no.

Try mosquito-bites, (very few), and a sunset that bleaches out a TV. Then Venus makes her flirtatious presence known until the moon comes up and dashes the lesser bodies into the twilight.

The kids are in and out of the shadows, hardly slacking as they wend their way among the grown folks’ outstretched legs. They stop to stick a marshmallow over the fire just long enough to turn into a coal, then off into the dusk they flew.

Except for the dog bite, this weekend was like the rest. And that’s what we do best: rest. We sleep, take bird walks, sit around a smoky fire, talk, eat, and eat some more – and rest.

The couple with the rolling kitchen love to cook and do it well. Each of us brings some basic ingredients just to watch the cook wield a spatula over those red-twinkling coals.

Meals are pretty much the same, year to year. Friday dinner: fish fry. Saturday breakfast: omelets-in-a-bag. Saturday evening: brats and potluck sides. Sunday breakfast: French toast.

We don’t miss church for this outing. One of our members works up a sermon, while others lead the hymns and serve Communion. With a sunset for a stained glass window and an oak tree for a mockingbird choir, our sanctuary is every bit as holy a place as our church in Peachtree City.

But this year will be remembered not for the Friday night rainstorm, or the time a tent actually blew away, but as the Year of the Dog Bite.

I was in our camper when the incident occurred, but it didn’t take long to find out why Phillip’s mom was driving off with him to the hospital in LaGrange.

10-year-old had been riding his bike between the campsites and the edge of Lake West Point when a dog went for him. Next thing anyone knew was that there were three deep, nasty wounds nearly at the top of the boy’s thigh.

The medium-sized mutts are part of a family with two small children and are not vicious. Most of us had stood within range of their leashes that weekend and did not feel endangered.

But someone who has knowledge of these things said that dogs are confused by bicycle wheels and, when confused, may become aggressive.

When I saw the bites, they had been cleaned, minimally stitched and covered only by a loose gauze pad to allow them to drain. The anesthetic had not yet warn off and he was happy to show off his merit badge. Badges, plural.

The ironic thing is that Phillip is the older of two brothers and has always been very protective of his sibling. He knows the rules and follows them, yet it was he who got hurt.

The first questions that come to mind were answered immediately. Yes, the dog was current on his rabies inoculations and was on a leash. Put it down as an unfortunate accident.

Phillip’s parents are the sort who deal with things like this in as low-key a matter as possible. No hysterics and recriminations here. They are friends with the couple who own the dogs, and didn’t want them to be any more upset than they already were.

“Just deal with it and move on,” is the attitude of Phillip’s folks.

If only. Because it was a dog bite, the hospital had to notify the sheriff’s department and sure enough, a patrol car soon arrived at the camp ground. Phillip’s folks did not want to press charges; the laws of Cherokee County were not so phlegmatic.

Two problems. The leashes with which the dogs were tied could be pulled out to 30 feet in length, a far cry from the 7-foot leash required. And when the dogs’ veterinarian was reached, the rabies shots were found to be out of date. Just a few months, but nonetheless out of date.

Phillip is going to be fine, and so are the good folks at the heart of this incident. Phillip missed a day of school, which he hates, but think of the show-and-tell opportunities.

He held up very well at the hospital, his mom says. Until the ER doc approached, needle and syringe in hand.

Phillip tried to hold him off, of course, but not with pushing or squirming. He went legal.

“Are you experienced with this kind of thing?” he asked with all the authority of a fifth grader under threat. “How many times have you done this before?”