Rachel Levin’s first book, Look Big and Other Tips for Surviving Animal Encounters of All Kinds offers an interesting take on our North American friends from the wild side.
Not so long ago the treatment for rabies consisted of twenty or more painful shots into the abdomen delivered by a needle the size of a fencepost. This treatment is now obsolete, as I have (thankfully) discovered.
I collected myself. Only minutes before the doctor had phoned to tell me that the dog that I had strangled was rabid. This was not a time for moping; it was a time for moving.
This incident could morph into a legacy-act of Davy Crockett proportions. Of course, in order to bask in it fully, I had to survive a ghastly and foaming death.
I rinsed with water from a hose. The clear imprint of teeth on my thigh would have made a dentist proud. But the wounds were also deep so they took a while to stop bleeding. Red streaks mixed with the water and dribbled down my leg and forearms.