Craig Fehrman at Defector:
The dog launched itself into me. Suddenly I was rolling on the ground, kicking and swinging and screaming for help. I could feel the teeth clamped into my calf, the jaws tearing and grinding. The dog released and bit again.
We fought for I’m not sure how long. Eventually, I grabbed a recycling bin and used it to bludgeon the dog until it backed off, snapping and snarling.
The owner finally appeared and dragged the dog inside. In the flat light of the streetlamps, I looked at my legs. Nothing hurt yet, not exactly, but I could see that my entire lower half was smeared with blood. I found myself staring at my calf, the site of that first bite.
The tissue was just hanging there, loose and slack. My skin had seemingly doubled in size. It was drooping, deflated. I’d never seen anything like it, until I realized I had. It looked like the leg of my grandfather when he was 90 years old.
I stumbled home and drove myself to the emergency room.
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