Dogs, Orthopedic Surgeons, and Aggression Towards Baseball Caps

Periodically when I'm running with my dog Jazz, about three-quarters of a mile from our house two dogs come running from the house at 2810 Waubesa Avenue and give chase. One, which appears to be a Golden Doodle or Labradoodle or Snickerdoodle—one of those odd but highly popular breeds that purposely combines some largely decent yellow dog with a poodle—acts vicious, bares its teeth, growls, barks, and chases but has never actually attacked Jazz or me. So it probably won't. The other is a Yorkie, so that evokes little fear. But I am disgusted at having my run disrupted by these dogs, and it still freaks me out.

In years past I've been in several situations where I was running a dog, and it and/or I have been attacked and bitten by a free-roaming canine. Murray had his ear nearly ripped off by a Rottweiler in Sacramento, I have spent hundreds of dollars for multiple incidents in getting my dogs pieced back together, and I still bear dog bite scars on my leg. So when a loose dog comes at me and acts threatening, it's post-traumatic stress time. I freak.

Yesterday after going through the usual routine of trying to get away as fast as possible, I'd had enough. Jazz and I retraced our steps to the house from which these two dogs regularly spew forth, rang the doorbell, and a "gentleman" came to the door.

Me: Your dogs are running loose in the street. [I focused on staying calm and just stating the fact.]

Him: Oh, okay, I'll bring them in.

Me: This has happened too many times. I intend to call Animal Control. [Still calm, but somewhat surprised by his cavalier manner.]

[Pause}

Him: GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!

[I was stunned and just stood there on the porch.]

Him: YOU ARE ON MY PROPERTY.

[At this point he advanced, grabbed the bill of the baseball cap I was wearing, twisted it around to the side, and shoved it down on my head.]

Him: GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!!!

[I turned around to leave and started walking down the steps. He followed.]

Him: EVERYONE'S SICK OF YOUR BITCHING! YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT EVERYTHING!!!

Me: Your dogs have chased me a number of times, but this is the first time I've complained to you or anyone else.

Him: WELL, SOMEONE'S ALWAYS COMPLAINING ABOUT SOMETHING. WE DON'T LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING MADISON!

[I kept walking and didn't engage. He kept following me as I turned to go back home.]

Him: YOU ACT LIKE WE LIVE IN DOWNTOWN MADISON!!! WE DON'T LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING DOWNTOWN MADISON!

I didn't respond, but it wasn't because I was unaware that I wasn't in the middle of downtown Madison. I was thinking "Yeah, but that doesn't mean animal control laws don't apply just because we're south of the Belt Line, and it's not like the housing density is any less, and we ARE still at a Madison address." Despite my thoughts, I had good reason to believe the guy had dropped a mental crankshaft, and there was no point in sharing my perspective. He didn't seem like someone really interested in someone else's counterpoint anyway.

By this time his Yorkie was running along with Jazz and me, and I didn't blame it. I wanted to get away from him too. From behind me, I would hear him bleat the occasional "Alvin!", assumedly at the Yorkie, which ultimately went about a quarter of a mile with us. At that point Mr. Teach You a Lesson By Jamming Your Baseball Cap Down the Side of Your Head finally started chasing his dog down rather than following behind me, and the Yorkie ran from him. It led a good chase, ran in circles causing him to run in circles after it. It was quite the spectacle and seemed fitting considering his implied contention that his dogs should be able to go wherever they damned well pleased.

Even though it was taking on sitcom proportions, I was still shaken and felt frightened of anyone exhibiting his type of threatening behavior, so I just kept going, kept my eyes straight ahead, and did not comment. But I did a LOT of internal belly-laughing. I passed his little circus with the Yorkie, and felt safe when I got home.

When I told Scott about the incident, his immediate response was, "Let's go pay him a visit." Oh great. No, let's not. We've had enough testosterone demonstrations for one morning.

This morning I researched the address and discovered that it's the home of a woman who, it would appear, is a triathlete and the race director for the Wisconsin Triathlon Series, which includes Lake Mills, Pardeeville, and Devil's Challenge. (Et tu, fellow triathlete?) I researched some more and under the Dean Health Care website found a picture of her husband and apparent co-resident at 2810 Waubesa Ave, and verified that he is the same person who expressed certainty that we don't live in downtown Madison, felt the need to re-organize my baseball cap, and followed me part way home—AND as a bonus, he is an orthopedic surgeon. My, my, what professionalism. I do not want his scalpel nor carpentry tools nor any part of his person anywhere near me.

I called Dane County Animal Control and left a full report this morning, and also asked them to call and educate me if I'm mistaken about animal containment laws applying on Waubesa Avenue.