By David Friedlander
A dog attacked me on Thanksgiving. I was running at Teller Farms when a medium-sized dog came running at me. Because its owner, who was about 30 feet behind the charging dog, seemed unconcerned, I was unconcerned. Silly me. The dog bit my arm, breaking a little skin and shredding my running jacket. The owner casually came up and leashed the dog. I asked for her information, telling her the dog ripped my $100 jacket. She didn’t offer her information, but she did remark, “That doesn’t look like it cost $100” (reminder: wear fancier looking running kit next time I’m attacked by a dog). She was with a man, presumably her husband, who offered to give me $100. I had mashed potatoes to prepare and wanted this incident to be over, so I accepted his offer, thinking that would be it. But when the owners gave me the money at the trailhead, they showed no contrition. I never heard a “sorry.” Likewise, the woman’s questioning the value of the jacket their dog destroyed, and their refusal to give me their information, made me think twice. What if the dog attacked a child, senior or any other unsuspecting human? After a night’s deliberation, I decided to report the dog, whose owners’ license plate I snapped.
The Thanksgiving attack was my fifth in four years in Boulder and the second I reported to Boulder’s Animal Control, who have always been sympathetic and responsive. For the record, Americans are far more likely to be attacked by dogs than humans. There were 884,550 aggravated assaults in the U.S. in 2023 versus 4.5 million dog attacks, with half happening to children. As I’ve opined here before, Boulderites usually let comfort, not statistical risk, determine what is and is not safe.
The frequency of these attacks and the casualness with which owners let their poorly-trained pooches endanger public safety reflects a value system in which dogs are treated as first-class citizens and humans often a distant second.
There’s another incident that illustrates this canine-centric class system. I was attempting to walk through an intersection on Pearl Street, but a man and his dog were blocking the walkway ; the dog on one side, the owner on the other, and a leash stretched between them, acting as a fence for the walkway. The owner made no effort to move and pedestrians were arcing into the street to avoid them. I’m tall, so I walked over the leash but snagged it a little as I did. The owner yelled, “What are you doing a**hole? He just had surgery?”
And your dog’s surgery is my and other pedestrians’ problem because…? I never elected to take care of your dog. I don’t recall any mentions of dogs in the Constitution. No, it’s on you human dog owner to take care of your dog’s needs, to move the dog out of humans’ way on sidewalks and trails, to check signs of where dogs are prohibited (like Pearl Street Mall and Lion’s Lair), remove its feces, keep it leashed as necessary, etc. — and to do these things in ways that don’t impinge on human safety and wellbeing. I wish these things were assumed, but they clearly are not.
I love dogs and live with a few who love me back. Just ask. But I do not hold their value above or near my own or any human. I wish we lived in a world where most of the billions of dollars spent on pets went to the billions of humans in need instead, where the love so freely given to dogs would be given back to our increasingly isolated human families, children, friends and greater communities — humans who historically fulfilled our physical, emotional and spiritual needs before they were replaced by dogs … and the internet, of course. I get it. We humans are often complex, disagreeable and needy. We ask for more out of our relationships than a bowl of bland food, some petting and a walk (though not much more, to be fair). But we are also creative, challenging and interesting in ways non-humans will never be. We deserve respect and safety from dogs, but because they can’t read, it’s on human dog owners to see that that happens.
David Friedlander is a housing innovation consultant and founder of Run Haus, a running and performance-oriented community platform. He lives in unincorporated Boulder County.
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