Chewy’s Unfortunate Encounter with the Painter

[Dateline: North Miami Beach, Fl.  circa 2000]

We hired a contractor to do painting and related odd-jobs at our house in the Skylake neighborhood of North Miami Beach, Florida. We were doing this so that we could improve the house in order to put it on the market for sale.

The contractor we hired (we’ll just call him “Sam”), was a fairly recent immigrant from England.  Anyhow, one day, Sam was painting our bathroom and I was cleaning house.  Meanwhile, I had placed “Chewy” (our 125 pound Labrador+Chow mix breed dog) into another bathroom so that he would not accidently “meet” a stranger – namely “Sam”.

The reason I did not want “Chewy” to meet “Sam” was quite simple, really.  Chewy had a really, really big problem with strangers.  Strangers, from Chewy’s perspective, had to be killed.  Plain and simple.

Chewy hated anyone that was not part of his immediate family.  “Immediate” family, as defined by Chewy, were those individuals (human, cat, and other household creatures) that lived in the same house (or den, cave, etc) as he.

So, as fate would have it that day, the following series of events took place:

As “Sam” was painting the front bathroom, I led Chewy out of the back bathroom and into the backyard, so that Chewy could “relieve” himself and basically “pee and poop” on the grass in the backyard.  I left Chewy in the backyard, closed the sliding glass doors that seperated the backyard and pool area from the house, and closed an iron gate that secured the sliding glass door and the house from the outside.  After doing so, I got the bright idea to take a garbage bag out the front door to leave it at the curb for eventual pickup by the City of North Miami Beach.

As I walked back to the house after leaving the bag on the curb, I opened the front door and looked towards the back of the house.  At the very back of the house was a picture window that opened up onto the backyard and pool area.  Much to my surprise, I noticed that “Sam” was walking past the window,  on the outside of the window, and therefore, in the backyard.  Hmm…

My first thought was that this was impossible.  There was no way that “Sam” could still be walking upright, seeing as how Chewy was also in the backyard.  I was immediately concerned, to say the least.  So, I quickly ran to the backroom, slid open the sliding glass door, opened the iron gate, and stepped into the backyard patio deck.

I looked to my right and saw Sam.  I did not see Chewy.  And I thought to myself, “hmm, how strange, where the heck is Chewy”?  “Chewy probably would not like this situation”, I thought to myself.

I glanced to the right.  Chewy suddenly appeared.  He had been on the north side of the house – around the corner of the house, and had not yet noticed “Sam”, nor me.  However, as Chewy made it around the corner, he saw me – and he was happy!  He wagged his tail and began to walk towards me.

Unfortunately, Chewy looked past me and noticed “Sam”.  What followed was nothing less than one of those very disturbing slow-motion “dream sequences” you could only hope was a figment of your imagination, and not possibly real.

As Chewy’s focal point moved past me, he noticed “Sam”.  Chewy stopped wagging his tail.  Rather, he immediately bolted forward.  In slow motion, Chewy rocketed past me as if he were a black-painted cruise missle.  I yelled (apparently in slow motion), “C – H – E – W – W – W- E – E – E – Y- ! – ! – !”

Chewy ran right past me. I was completely ignored.  Meanwhile, also in slow motion, “Sam” raised both of his arms, and, in one hand, he was holding a paint brush that he had, up until that very moment, been washing clean with a hose.

Raising his arms was probably, in retrospect, not the smartest move that “Sam” made that day.  The reason it wasn’t so smart was that it left, completely exposed, his waist and groin area.

Chewy charged “Sam” and, this is hard to say (although a lot harder if you were Sam that day), Chewy proceeded to bite “Sam” in the groin area. To be more specific, Chewy bit “Sam” on his balls.  Testicles, that is.  I screamed, “Chewy, Noooooooooooo!”. “Noooooooooooo!!!!”.  “Sam” also screamed – “Arggggghhhhh!”

After biting “Sam” in the nuts, Chewy then veered away – at a very high rate of speed.  I was appalled, and, “Sam” began bleeding profusely from his testicles.

I screamed at Chewy, “Go Away!” and “Stop!”, and “STOP!”.  Meanwhile, “Sam” pulled his trousers away from his waist and looked down into his “Southern Region”.

I asked “Sam” one question, “Are you okay?”.  He responded, “No man, I am NOT okay!”.

It turned out that “Sam” was bleeding profusely from one of his (two) testicles.  As we would later learn, Chewy had scored a precise hit and delived a deep puncture wound into the holiest-of-holies.

Chewy laid out on the grass.  Apparently, Chewy felt that he had completed his work assignment for the day. Meanwhile, I asked “Sam” whether he would like to go to the bathroom and “clean up”.  “Sam” agreed that this was probably a good idea.

Sam remained in the bathroom for about 15 minutes.  I began to get concerned.  I knocked on the bathroom door and asked “Sam” whether he was “alright”.  All I could imagine was a dead man, laying in pool of blood that was pouring from his testicles, draining, bright red, swiftly down into the shower drain, as warm water was ejected from above.  This was not a pleasant thought.  Especially for a homeowner.

So, I knocked again on the bathroom door.  “Sam”, are you alright?, I asked.  He replied, “Well, no, I’m not alright!”.  I asked, “Do you want some bandages?”.  “Sam” replied, “Yes, bring me some – now!”.

After finding some normal bandages, I knocked on the bathroom door and told “Sam” that I had them.  Sam then opened the door and took them.  In a few minutes “Sam” gave me an interesting insight, “Wayne, these bandages are too small, do you have bigger ones?”.

I knew I was screwed. Of course, “Sam” was far more scewed than me, seeing as how he no longed needed bangages, he basically needed really large gauzes to stop the bleeding from (one of) his testicles.  The image of a dead man in my shower continued to rule my thoughts….

Anyhow, I managed to find some large gauze and duct tape and “Sam” was able to “wrap up” his problem to the best of his ability.

I asked “Sam” if he would like me to take him to the Emergency Ward, hoping that “Sam” would think this to be a prudent course of action.  After getting out of the shower, “Sam” agreed that getting to the Emergency Room was “a really great idea”, and so we departed for the “Parkway General Hospital”.

Along the way, “Sam” and I discussed a variety of topics.  One of the topics was “sutures” or “stiches”.  “Sam” made it really clear that he absolutely hated these things.  In fact, Sam was extremely agitated to believe that he might need “stiches” on his “balls”.  I had a very sinking feeling about this.

Anhow, we finally made it to the Emergency Room of Parkway General Hospital.  I walked up to the counter and met the Emergency Room Receptionist.  She asked one question, “What is the problem?”.

I told her that the patient I had just brought it had been bitten in the testicles by a dog.

Silence.

Then, the movement of people behind the receptionist just stopped.

People sitting in the Emergency Room Waiting Area stopped speaking.

Silence and motionlessness pervaded the area.  Nothing moved. Nothing was spoken.  Total Silence.

Then, suddenly, it erupted: laughter.  Unconrtolled laughter from the Emergency Room Staff.  The staff ran to the counter and they had to see for themselves who the unlucky son-of-a-bitch was that had his nuts bitten by a dog.

I filled out some paperwork on behalf of “Sam” and we waited for him to be admitted.  Luckily, the wait was not for long.  While “Sam” was examined (and repaired) by Emergency Room Staff, I met “Sam’s” mother and girlfriend who both had quickly descended upon the hospital to help “Sam”.

I recall that discussing “Sam’s” testicles and future “baby-making” capabilites with “Sam’s” mother and girlfirend was not easy.

Anyhow, “Sam” was treated (with stiches) on his testicle.  Apparentluy, Chewy had delivered a very deep “puncture” wound on said testicle.  “Sam” was released from the hospital, and, after a short period of time, I received a phone call from my insurance company.

Let’s just say that I have two names for Chewy: “Mr. Lawsuit” and “Bad Dog”.