Buddy Thomason
09-02-2010, 07:41 AM
OK, first off, I wasn't attacked at the show. In fact it had nothing to do with the show. Here's what happened.
Friday night after the first day of the knife show I went to my son's house (a rental property I own) to feed his fish and care for the house while he was hiking the Grand Canyon. It was 9:30 PM, very dark and I was alone. Naturally I expected the house to be empty.
Instead, I unlocked the door, went through the kitchen, took two steps into
the dining room and out of the living room darkness rushed a pit bull (an un-rehab'd vicious pit bull with a long rap sheet). Turns out the
dog had been put in the house for a few hours that night by a friend who was
passing through.
My son's friend, the dog owner, cleared it with Wes. Wes
texted us from his cell but the call didn't go through due to range issues.
Wes assumed that like any other call that can't be placed for
being out of range - it is automatically sent when the phone gets back in
range. Unfortunately that didn't happen soon enough to prevent this.
It was a full on surprise attack. I had no chance of avoiding my fate and the dog had his teeth in my hand before I could blink. There were a lot of loud sounds from the dog yet his jaws were locked shut, teeth having easily pierced my skin. Suddenly, I knew I urgently needed to reclaim my hand. I also knew I would pay with tissue damage or worse. It was like the computer in my brain calculated all the possible outcomes and decided right now is your last chance.
I reared back with all the force I could muster and pulled my arm up over my shoulder, apparently jerking the dog off his feet. I could feel the flesh of my hand tear and for a brief moment the pain was terrible - but, the dog let go.
I was in shock and reacted too slowly to get away. After a couple of lunging bites he got my left leg above the knee in that famous pit bull jaw-lock he'd used on my hand. I felt panicky and desperate. Everything was happening in slow-motion and it seemed like I couldn't do anything fast enough to survive. The thought that someone might find me dead there on the floor... That my son would bear that terrible burden for all of his life... Don't go there.
The fabric of my pants tore under his teeth. He slipped backwards and I was able to scramble for the door. He chased me barking like crazy. I had to kick out at him twice while trying to get the stupid door open. Finally I escaped.
Drove myself to the ER - quite the bloody mess in my car. All the while I kept obsessing that if I had slipped inside or otherwise lost my footing, he would've automatically gone for my neck/face/head. That's what they do. So... at that point waking up two days later in the ICU would have to be considered a "good outcome." Very scary stuff.
This pit, Capone, was rescued from a fighting-dog training camp somewhere in the National Forest, SW Colorado. A trained experienced fighting pit bull goes for many thousands. Unfortunately, over Capone's 7 years there have been other incidents, though only minor injuries inflicted. Now, he will have to be put down. It's unclear to me whether Capone is so damaged that he can't be rehabilitated or that his owner has been in denial concerning his inconsistent approach to rehabbing his dog.
My outcome could have been worse (I have no broken bones or nerve damage). As it was, I spent 4 hours with a hand surgeon at the ER Friday night and was back to business on Saturday morning at the show. I think word probably got around at the show causing some people to stay away. Plus, my hand looked terrible - the bandages I was forbidden to change had blood soaking through and there was a rubber drain in the wound. I don't blame people if they stayed away for that reason.
Naturally, I took pictures in the ER with
my cell phone:
Hey! Don't open these if bloody flesh wounds offend you.
http://www.fototime.com/27C5B411CDB6F45/orig.jpg
http://www.fototime.com/73A4383ACD6510B/orig.jpg
Jeesh! I'm sure most reasonable people would have thrown in the towel,
gone home and taken care of their mangled body. Instead, all day Saturday I worked a fast pace and ached as if yesterday had been the first day of football practice (or as if I'd been in an auto accident) - yet I was positively euphoric!
My wife Laura called it a "combat high" and that's what it was - a common initial reaction to surviving a life/death situation. However, several days after the attack, out of the blue I burst into tears and sobbed for a while in the shower - one of the delayed reactions to trauma that is also quite common.
I'm fine and my trauma wasn't severe in the grand scheme but it sure was interesting to watch the normal human response to that sort of thing unfold
in my own life.
Good news is, the hand surgeon I met in the ER can operate on my seriously arthritic thumbs and make me pain free! Six week recovery but back to light work in 3 days. Do the non-dominant hand first, the the dominant. Insurance covers. Sounds like my ship has come in!
Wow... pain free. Thanks Capone! Good boy. You saved me from a fate worse than death - chronic pain, increasing disability and ultimately, despair.
I can't imagine something like this happening to me - but there you go. It did.
Friday night after the first day of the knife show I went to my son's house (a rental property I own) to feed his fish and care for the house while he was hiking the Grand Canyon. It was 9:30 PM, very dark and I was alone. Naturally I expected the house to be empty.
Instead, I unlocked the door, went through the kitchen, took two steps into
the dining room and out of the living room darkness rushed a pit bull (an un-rehab'd vicious pit bull with a long rap sheet). Turns out the
dog had been put in the house for a few hours that night by a friend who was
passing through.
My son's friend, the dog owner, cleared it with Wes. Wes
texted us from his cell but the call didn't go through due to range issues.
Wes assumed that like any other call that can't be placed for
being out of range - it is automatically sent when the phone gets back in
range. Unfortunately that didn't happen soon enough to prevent this.
It was a full on surprise attack. I had no chance of avoiding my fate and the dog had his teeth in my hand before I could blink. There were a lot of loud sounds from the dog yet his jaws were locked shut, teeth having easily pierced my skin. Suddenly, I knew I urgently needed to reclaim my hand. I also knew I would pay with tissue damage or worse. It was like the computer in my brain calculated all the possible outcomes and decided right now is your last chance.
I reared back with all the force I could muster and pulled my arm up over my shoulder, apparently jerking the dog off his feet. I could feel the flesh of my hand tear and for a brief moment the pain was terrible - but, the dog let go.
I was in shock and reacted too slowly to get away. After a couple of lunging bites he got my left leg above the knee in that famous pit bull jaw-lock he'd used on my hand. I felt panicky and desperate. Everything was happening in slow-motion and it seemed like I couldn't do anything fast enough to survive. The thought that someone might find me dead there on the floor... That my son would bear that terrible burden for all of his life... Don't go there.
The fabric of my pants tore under his teeth. He slipped backwards and I was able to scramble for the door. He chased me barking like crazy. I had to kick out at him twice while trying to get the stupid door open. Finally I escaped.
Drove myself to the ER - quite the bloody mess in my car. All the while I kept obsessing that if I had slipped inside or otherwise lost my footing, he would've automatically gone for my neck/face/head. That's what they do. So... at that point waking up two days later in the ICU would have to be considered a "good outcome." Very scary stuff.
This pit, Capone, was rescued from a fighting-dog training camp somewhere in the National Forest, SW Colorado. A trained experienced fighting pit bull goes for many thousands. Unfortunately, over Capone's 7 years there have been other incidents, though only minor injuries inflicted. Now, he will have to be put down. It's unclear to me whether Capone is so damaged that he can't be rehabilitated or that his owner has been in denial concerning his inconsistent approach to rehabbing his dog.
My outcome could have been worse (I have no broken bones or nerve damage). As it was, I spent 4 hours with a hand surgeon at the ER Friday night and was back to business on Saturday morning at the show. I think word probably got around at the show causing some people to stay away. Plus, my hand looked terrible - the bandages I was forbidden to change had blood soaking through and there was a rubber drain in the wound. I don't blame people if they stayed away for that reason.
Naturally, I took pictures in the ER with
my cell phone:
Hey! Don't open these if bloody flesh wounds offend you.
http://www.fototime.com/27C5B411CDB6F45/orig.jpg
http://www.fototime.com/73A4383ACD6510B/orig.jpg
Jeesh! I'm sure most reasonable people would have thrown in the towel,
gone home and taken care of their mangled body. Instead, all day Saturday I worked a fast pace and ached as if yesterday had been the first day of football practice (or as if I'd been in an auto accident) - yet I was positively euphoric!
My wife Laura called it a "combat high" and that's what it was - a common initial reaction to surviving a life/death situation. However, several days after the attack, out of the blue I burst into tears and sobbed for a while in the shower - one of the delayed reactions to trauma that is also quite common.
I'm fine and my trauma wasn't severe in the grand scheme but it sure was interesting to watch the normal human response to that sort of thing unfold
in my own life.
Good news is, the hand surgeon I met in the ER can operate on my seriously arthritic thumbs and make me pain free! Six week recovery but back to light work in 3 days. Do the non-dominant hand first, the the dominant. Insurance covers. Sounds like my ship has come in!
Wow... pain free. Thanks Capone! Good boy. You saved me from a fate worse than death - chronic pain, increasing disability and ultimately, despair.
I can't imagine something like this happening to me - but there you go. It did.