Written by Kea Grace
The sudden hair-raising, blood-curdling, nightmarish screaming emanating from the backyard had me bolting down the stairs and sprinting through the house before my brain even fully registered I was moving. I flung open the patio door and was greeted by a chilling sight I'd only seen once before out of all my years training dogs.
Two dogs, a Golden Retriever (fully trained Service Dog) and a Labrador Retriever (Service Dog in Training), were tangled in a frantic, chaotic, life-or-death struggle. Their panic was visceral and raw; their terror so thick as to be palatable. These dogs, bouncy, silly, playful dogs who had lived together, played together, been alone together on innumerous occasions, were not fighting. Neither of them had ever met an enemy, especially not in each other.
Right now, though, both dogs were convinced the other was trying to kill them, and they were responding per that assumption. Neither dog was wrong, but not for the reasons you might think.
These two youngsters had likely been tussling, and one of them, the Labrador, grabbed the Golden Retriever's buckle-free ID tag holder. Some how, some way, the Labrador flipped over, cinching the collar tight around his lower jaw. The collar crushed his tongue into his teeth, which started the initial flow of blood. Meanwhile, the Golden starts trying to work his way free of a collar that's getting tighter and tighter.
I arrived just in time to see the Labrador start alligator rolling, further constricting the collar around his jaw and the Golden's neck. Instantly, the noise jumped an octave or two -- the screeching was so loud, something in my ears popped. Diving into the fray, yelling at the top of my lungs for help that never came, I straddled the Lab, hoping to stop his movement, and grabbed ahold of the Golden, who promptly bit me. Teeth were everywhere, fur flying, spit and blood soaked fur, fabric, skin. Snapping and snarling intermixed with the ever-present screaming.
The Golden's eyes were bulging, his tongue lolling, and the frenetic agitation in his movements were fading. When I buried my fingers in his fur, looking for his collar, they came away bloody from where the collar had dug into his skin and caused lacerations. Everything was wound so tightly, there was no chance of getting fingers, a knife, or anything else behind the thick paracord braid. Believe me, I tried. And tried. And tried. I even bolted to the garage in search of wire or bolt cutters, hoping to cut the stainless steel ring, which was the sole piece of hardware on the collar.
So I set out to do the only thing I could think of at the time -- I started picking up the 65 pound Labrador boy and flipping him over. This increased his panic, but each time I threw him back to the ground and rolled him, the collar loosened just a bit.
The Golden, who was completely limp and nearly unresponsive by now, complicated matters simply by existing -- his 75 pounds of body weight levered against the twist point in the collar, making it very difficult to maneuver a struggling, frenzied Lab baby, around that single spot resting on the ground, essentially by his face. I was literally throwing the Labrador around a fixed point that his jaw was attached to.
Finally, I managed to get enough space to pull the Golden out, and to pry the collar out of the Labrador's mouth, where it had embedded. I've never been so relieved in my life as I was when I saw the Golden stagger to his feet, sides heaving, and press himself into me. The Labrador crawled into my lap, and we sat there, clinging to each other, celebrating life, a huddled mess, for a few minutes, a week, a month, a year, a millennium, while tears streaked my face and sobs wracked my body.
I've rarely felt so helpless in my life. There was nothing to hang onto and every move I made, no matter how helpful, caused them more pain. Neither of them knew what was going on or what caused it, and both were so desperate for freedom, they didn't care the cost -- but the problem only compounded. They were fighting each other, they were fighting me, and I was fighting to help, all while fighting them. It was chaos on a level no one should ever experience.
The Golden was dying under my hands as I fought to do something, anything, to fix this unholy disaster. I could feel him ebbing, lessening, fading, while the Labrador's fight only strengthened as the resistance on the other end disappeared. Had I not been right there, I could have returned to a scene straight out of a horror film, straight from hell itself.
I'm a lifetime dog trainer. I've had thousands of dogs in and through my hands. This is only the second time I've encountered this problem, and the first I've had to handle it solo. Statistically, it probably won't happen to you. Statistically, it shouldn't have happened to these guys. They'd had thousands of hours together, doing exactly what they did that day -- but this time, it went wrong. Deadly wrong. Petrifying wrong. Sickeningly wrong.
All of this to say . . . . don't take chances with your dog's life. We all know they need to wear tags, just in case they need to find their way home, but please, please, please -- if your dog is in a play group, do one of three things:
1. Remove their collar.
2. Buy the cheapest, thinnest, horriblest plastic quick release buckle collar you can. Put tags on it. Put it on your dog. Cut it off or snap the buckle in an emergency.
3. Purchase a "play safe" collar, which is like a break away cat collar, but for dogs. PetSafe Brand makes one called the daycare collar.
Things happen. Do your best to not let them happen to your best friend.
