Why My Hand is Bandaged

Why My Hand is Bandaged

Before I start this story I must apologize to Tech Sgt. Richard Waite for being less than honest about what happened on post the night I was bitten, and to my mother for not being the truthful young man that she expected me to be at all times.  I must also apologize to Dawn for vilifying her in this incident.

At Wright-Patterson Air Force Base we had three K-9 posts near the flight line where the alert ready B-52 bombers with nukes on board were parked.  Two of the posts were between the taxiway and the runway.  The boundaries of those two posts were 100 feet apart, which means that there should be no contact during the night between the two dogs and handlers.

Halfway between the two posts there was a transformer with a chain link fence around it and a free standing cabinet with the controls for the runway lights.  It was common for the two handlers to put their duffle bags against the cabinet and sit on it while they chatted, read a book by flashlight, or occasionally napped.  I was taught how to attach my dog's leash to the fence which would release with a tug of the loop but would tighten if the dog tugged on the leash.  

Some guys came to work with the intention of sleeping.  I tried very hard to stay awake.  Walking my post, the way I should, always worked.  One night, with my dog tied to the fence, I closed my eyes longer than I should have.  The break truck started up the road from the taxiway, which I should have seen coming when it left the flight line.  I stood up, and walked down the road to meet it.  It took me a few steps before I realized that my dog was further in front of me than her six foot leash should allow. Dawn had eaten the leather in the center of her leash.  I had a foot of leash in my hand and she had a foot of leash at her collar.

Two things: That was the last time I tied my dog to the fence and I never wanted to allow a truck or a person to get close to me before I was aware of it.  After that time I tied the dog to my wrist with her leash and I taught her to alert on trucks.  She already knew how to alert on people.  

At the cabinet, we sat about five feet apart.  This made my mentor, the Flight Chief, a little bit nervous. Between the leash and my reach, my dog could attack him if I was inattentive.  We both had very aggressive dogs.  Odd, but I remember his dog's name, Jumbo, but not his name.  He was a veteran of ten or twelve years and I was a dog handler of very few months.  He suggested that we make friends with each others dogs.  It made sense to me, so I agreed.

We muzzled our dogs and each of us took turns at becoming friends with the other handler's dog. After a few nights, Jumbo's aggression had subsided, so I took off his muzzle and started patting his head.  On the second pass, Jumbo snatched my hand. He bit my hand twice and when he went for a third bite, I pulled my hand from his mouth.

Now the reasons about the less than honest report that I filed about the dog bite:

1. I was supposed to be at least 100 feet from another dog
2. The Flight Chief was supposed to also be at least 100 feet from my dog and me
3. A handler's dog biting a person is the same as having been shot by that handler
4. It was not just my career at stake
5. We both would have faced disciplinary action and rightfully so

The Flight Chief decided how I should write up the incident.  Being young and naive, this is the report I wrote up about the incident:

As I was walking across my post around 0100 hrs, I slipped on a small patch of ice and stepped on Dawn's foot.  She snatched my hand out of instinct and immediately released when she realized what she had done.

This made sense to the kennel master.  Dawn was quarantined for rabies, just as a precaution.  I worked nights during that time watching the kennels all night, while my hand healed and Dawn was quarantined. Dawn did not dispute the story and remained loyal to me.