Parents for Dog Bite Awareness

NSFW Warning: graphic medical photos at the end of the article. Proceed with care.

Written by Heather, the survivor of the attack.

My story just keeps getting silenced.

I’ve always been pretty open about my attack, but recently after many many years, a family member uncovered some photos from the original attack that I thought were lost forever.

On the day of the attack, I was 11 years old and living in Kentucky. It was June 2nd, 2001. Summer vacation had just really kicked off and I’d spent a couple of days at my friend’s house. My mom sent word for me to come home so I grabbed my bike and started my journey back.

I usually carried a stick with me as my neighbor’s dogs were aggressive and I had previously warded them off with it.

When I say aggressive, I mean they’d previously knocked me off my bike. I fully believe had my uncle not been driving by during that first attempt, I would have been mauled then.

The same dogs had also killed my horse and many of our smaller animals. Other people had made calls about these dogs, but the family was related to our dog warden and seemed to evade any accountability.

Anyhow, I didn’t want to go home on this day as I was having so much fun at my friend’s house and felt it wasn’t fair that I had to leave.

I paused around the curved country road from my neighbor’s house and realized I had forgotten my stick as protection, but figured I could make it. I never made it home.

Instead, just when I thought I was in the clear, I heard a noise. I turned to see what it was and the neighbor’s white pit mix was instantly on my ankle. It pulled me from my bike. I face planted, breaking a tooth on the ground. I tried to get back on my bike but that’s when the rest of the dogs joined the attack. To this day, we still don’t know how many exactly. Four were confirmed by investigators and it’s suspected at least 7 total helped to maul me.

I was awake through it all. I knew deep down if I went to sleep, no matter how exhausted I was, I’d never wake up. The harder I fought, the harder they ripped at me.

A man intervened. He’s why I am alive today. He was a friend of my mom and had known me the majority of my life, but I was unrecognizable to him at the time and just a victim in need of help. He kicked the dogs off me, receiving injuries of his own, and sent the other bystander for help.

When they airlifted me to the hospital they told my parents I’d be a triple amputee. They thought my left arm would need to be removed and possibly my right, and then there was discussion of my left leg. My mom refused. Then they thought I’d never use my arms again. But I decided that wasn’t an option and worked hard to recover.

From age 11 to when I turned 16 years old, my family and I lived a life in hospitals and courtrooms. At 16, I was told that I’d get nothing more than 500$ and a forced apology. At 16, I was tired of fighting and said ok. [Note: the judge ordered the dogs to be returned to the owner!]

I haven’t kept up with this family throughout the years, but apparently they now run a rescue of sorts.

Honestly, discovering that felt like a slap in the face. The reason I’m permanently disfigured is because they’d “rescue” strays, bring them home and just turn them loose.

They’re constantly asking for donations to feed the 40+ dogs they’ve “rescued “ and it feels like Déjà vu whenever I heard of their activities.

These photos below were after they stitched me up, but before the infection set in where they had to carve pretty big chunks of my skin away. Some photos are of a conversation with one of their kids years later. Some newspaper articles.

The last few are of my scars now.

I have severe, permanent nerve damage throughout my body and only partial use of my left arm. And muscle loss as well.

I suffer from PTSD, understandably, along with other mobility and pain issues.