Something bit our dog.
We didn’t exactly catch what, he had bolted out the front door before my sister could slip the leash over his head. Ran under the porch.
A second later, I heard him yelp. It took me a moment to wrangle him. He was whimpering and his right leg was bleeding. Badly. A chunk of his thigh had been ripped apart.
But that’s not the weird part. All sorts of things will hold up down there. It’s dark and cold and perfect for snakes and rabid dogs. Bites are inevitable.
When we took him to the vet, Mom and Dad were pulled into the hallway. I could hear them whisper and gasp and ask questions that were ignored.
Turns out, it wasn’t a rabid dog that had bitten him. Or a snake.
But a human.
They had to put him down.