Chapter 1

Day 1, November 2008

I was out for my daily walk when it happened. I try to get in a four mile walk every day. It doesn't always happen, but I do try. This one started out like any other, except that I started later than usual. I was making good time till I stopped to talk with two of the neighborhood girls. Their names are Belinda and Malinda. They are twins — about 5'-2" tall, 110 pounds, 34C-23-34, 16 year old, long red hair, oval faces, green eyes, freckles, and just as cute as can be. They are home schooled which is how they were out in their yard at 9:30 on an early November morning We talked for about ten minutes before I decided that I really needed to get on with my walk and said goodbye.

I walk all of the culs-de-sac in the subdivision where I live instead of just the main streets like most people do. That way I get four miles in without having to repeat any of the trip. The girls house is near the intersection where two of the main streets meet. Both streets terminate in a cul-de-sac. On leaving the girls house I turned into the first cul-de-sac, one which went down hill. The trip down isn't bad, but I always take the return trip back up too fast and get winded. I swung into the second cul-de-sac and continued on.

I hate this particular cul-de-sac because there is a bulldog that belongs to the people in the corner house. It is a particularly vicious dog, about eighteen to twenty inches high, wide chest and all jaws. They have a 6'-0" tall board fence that runs along the side of their property by the street. The dog always races to the end of the fence and barks and bites at the fence when I come by. I always give it a wide berth, as I don't like the dog at all and don't trust the fence to keep him in.

Today was the day the fence gave way. The dog hit this one board with his body and it cracked and parted all the way across about sixteen inches from the ground. The dog was going crazy and burst right through knocking the short bottom piece down. He came right for me.

I was about eight feet out in the road from the end of the fence when he broke through. I carry a good hickory walking stick just for dogs. I took a swipe at him with it, but that didn't even slow him down. He ripped right into my left leg, and I was knocked down on the ground from the impact. My head hit the road and that was the last I knew for a while.

Day 1, later

When I came to, there was a paramedic working on my leg. There were two sheriff's deputies there. They were keeping the crowd of neighbors back and trying to get the story of what had happened straight.

My leg hurt like hell. I was dizzy and felt like I was going to puke. When the paramedic noticed I was conscious, he said, "You are one lucky guy. If those two girls hadn't known first aid and also called 911, you would have been dead. What did you do to that dog though?"

"What do you mean, what did I do to that dog? I didn't do anything. He attacked me — bit into my leg and knocked me down. That's the last thing I remember," I told him in confusion.

"Well, someone or something broke his back and then ate a good part of him," the medic replied.

Malinda and Belinda had been talking to one of the deputies. When they heard my voice, both rushed over to me. They were crying and their breathing was ragged.

"Oh, Dave are you all right?" they moaned in tears.

"No girls, I am not all right. I have been a lot better."

"We were so scared when the dog got out and knocked you down. And when that other huge dog appeared, we were petrified!" they both said and whimpered, still crying.

In the mean time, two other sheriff's cars had pulled up and two more men got out. One walked up to the medic and asked, "When can we talk to him?"

"Going to be a while, Sheriff. He needs to get to the hospital to get this leg taken care of. There are ripped muscles and torn ligaments, plus a severed artery. Going to take a lot of stitches to repair this," the medic told him.

"Can he talk now?" the Sheriff asked.

"Don't know? He lost a lot of blood and from the look of his eyes, he has a concussion too. Best you wait till later. We are going to transport him to the hospital now, " he said as he finished working on my leg. Right then I wasn't feeling well at all and closed my eyes again because of the bright light.

Day 3

I must have passed out. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. My head still hurt and my leg was all bandaged up. There were tubes from an IV attached to the back of my hand and an oxygen hose running into my nose. There was also a clip on my finger with a wire running up to some machine.

I just lay there for a while. I felt like shit, my leg hurt like hell, the lights were too damn bright, and I was as dry as a desert. Shortly a tall guy in a white coat with a stethoscope came in and introduced himself as Doctor John. There was an older woman, a nurse, with him.

"Well, how are you doing, Dave?" he asked. I tried to answer but nothing came out. The nurse moved to the bedside stand and poured a glass of water from the pitcher there. She then helped me to sit up some and held the straw to my mouth so I could drink. The water was cold and tasted great. It did wonders for my throat. What wasn't wonderful was my head. The movement and setting up had started the pain in my head again. It felt like someone was banging on my head with a mallet. I groaned.

"Better lay him back down, nurse," the doctor said. Then, "Tell me Dave, are the lights real bright in here?" he asked. My head felt a little better when I was horizontal again.

"Yes," I answered in a whisper. "It is very bright in here and my head hurts like a bitch."

"That's the concussion. You are probably going to have to stay horizontal for a few more days. You'll feel better that way. Also I have these sunglasses you can wear when you are awake to help with the brightness," he informed me as he fitted the glasses on my face. "Is that better?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Yes," I answered still in a whisper, "that's better."

"That concussion will keep you in bed for two weeks at least," Doctor John said. "The leg will keep you in bed a lot longer. You lost quite a lot of blood. It's a good thing those girls got a tourniquet on your leg or you would have bled to death. That dog did a real number on your leg. We had you in surgery for seven hours doing repairs. We put something like 200 stitches in your leg, inside and out. I've had you sedated for the last two days because of the residual pain and to keep you from moving the leg."

"I want you to stay in bed at least three weeks — no walking at all. After that a wheel chair for another three weeks to a month at least. It will depend on how well you heal up. When I think you are healed enough, I will start you on physical therapy with crutches. I don't want to alarm you, but that leg may never be right again. We will just have to see. You are going to have to stay off of it for at least two months. What do you do for a living, Dave?" he finished.

"I'm retired, Doc," I told him.

"At your age? You are only in your late twenties."

"My Dad left me a lot of stocks, property, and business interests when he died a few years ago. I make visits to my business interests a couple of times a year. Most of the time I pursue other interests: writing, wood work, photography, and blacksmithing," I told him.

"Well you should have plenty of time to write while that leg is healing," he told me before he left. My head was still buzzing. I closed my eyes again, as I was tired, and was gone again

Day 4

The next time I woke up, it was morning. Shortly a cute, young nurse came in with a tray, and asked, "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Sure," I said. "What am I having?"

"Jello and juice," she answered

"Am I supposed to survive on that?" I asked.

"Yes, for a while, after all, you haven't eaten in over three days. You'll get a different diet in a few days or so," she informed me.

Day 6, morning

That day and the next were a drag. I slept a lot and was allowed no visitors. Finally on the third day, I started to get a better variety of food. I also got a visitor — it was the sheriff. He wasn't in a good mood. He started with, "I have been waiting for six days to get to talk to you, Dave. I don't want any bullshit. I want to know what happened — first hand from you."

"Where do you want me to start," I asked.

"Start at the girls' house," he told me.

"I saw Belinda and Malinda out in their yard as I approached their house. I was on the other side of the street. I always walk facing traffic. They called, 'Hi Dave'. I called back 'Hi' and crossed the street to talk to them. I turned off my stopwatch that I use to time my walks.

"How far do you walk and in what time," the sheriff asked.

"I usually walk four miles and average around 52 minutes. I have done it in less than fifty but have to push a lot to do that."

"Do you stop and talk to them a lot?"

"Not a lot, but I do stop if I see them out there, and we talk for a while. I walk most days so a little stop occasionally is no big thing."

"Why them?"

"Well Sheriff, if you have seen them, you know how cute they are. They are also very smart and knowledgeable on a lot of subjects. It is a pleasure to talk with them. They are so levelheaded, not like a lot of these young people today."

"Go ahead. What happened when you left?" the sheriff asked.

"I recrossed the street and went down the first cul-de-sac, around the bottom, and back up the hill. Then I turned into the second cul-de-sac. The fenced-in yard with the dog runs along there. I had gotten to the end of the fence just as the dog ran up and hit the fence. He always does that. He barks and growls and bites at the boards till I am most of the way around the cul-de-sac."

"That day as he hit this board on the fence, it cracked across and gave way. He charged through the hole he had created and came straight for me. I swatted at him with my hickory walking stick hoping to drive him off. Didn't work. I hit him in the shoulder, but he just drove right through and clamped down on my leg with his teeth, and that Hurt. The impact (he must weigh eighty-five or ninety pounds) knocked me off my feet. My head hit the pavement, and I went out like a light."

"The next thing I know, the paramedics are there working on my leg. They talked to me for a minute, but then I passed out again and woke up here in this bed," I finished.

"That's all you know?" the sheriff asked.