BITING THE HAND THAT FEEDS, PETS AND TRIED TO UNDERSTAND YOU

Dec. 10, 1998

Dear Patty,

Hank bit me a few days ago. The wound was just a nick on the thumb that barely drew blood, but it's always a shock to be hurt by someone you love. You can't quite believe it.

Workmen bearing an appliance were knocking at the back door, Hank and Lucy were barking fiercely, and like a policeman in a Roman plaza I vainly was trying to direct traffic. Hank disagreed with one of my hand signals urging him away from the door and let me know it.

That's my view of the incident. Someone else might reasonably ask what my hand was doing in the vicinity of his teeth while my dog was out of control.

The fault is ours for forgetting to tell people to phone before coming over so our fur-covered nuclear weapon can be locked safely in a bedroom.

Also our fault: Hank hadn't been taking his Prozac lately. You see that neglect of medication so often in crime stories, though usually the man-bites-dog variety.

But the truth is, Hank's neurosis has taken us prisoner.

In her book "Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs," Carolyn Knapp writes of a woman whose dog, a German shepherd, became so protective of her that the woman couldn't invite people to her home, couldn't go on vacation because no kennel would board him and had to walk the dog at 1 a.m.

Like most dog owners, we have made ours part of the family. And we have a scared little boy in the house who considers almost everyone else a threatening stranger. The exceptions -- my parents, DC's parents, adults who know how to act around volatile dogs -- only make us wonder if there isn't still some hope of training his fear way.

The thing is, I think I know how Hank feels. I was a scared little boy myself. My tactic was to blend into the wallpaper, the better not to be noticed.

Hank's just as interested in shying away from human contact, especially if a human seems to be pursuing him. But his primary means of handling fear is to warn people away, to try to intimidate them.

I have tried to treat my fears by expressing them and understanding their sources. But sometimes there is no understanding, only the breathtaking realization that you no longer have anything to fear.

If only Hank knew that.

I know all of this is a projection on my part. Knapp tells of a psychotherapist who encourages her patients to talk about their pets because they really are talking about themselves.

We make problems for ourselves by expecting dogs to think like humans. No doubt, those problems begin from the moment we start treating them like people.

After being bitten, I banished the dogs to the yard and welcomed the strangers into the house. Perhaps that seemed an odd show of disloyalty to the dogs.

When the workmen left an hour later, Hank and Lucy came back in the house. I allowed myself to glower at Hank for a few moments. He lowered his head and went to his corner.

Do I think he knew I was mad because he'd bit me? No. But I wanted him to know my feelings were hurt.

I think that scares Hank -- me -- most, having our feelings hurt.

It's a pain that wells up inside, the kind only someone you love can cause.

Love, Sam