Earlier today, Dave sent around this disturbing yet strangely funny article from the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, about a cute little Wheaten terrier named Mandy who was saved by her owner from the jaws of a vicious alligator. Mandy survived unscathed and with all her fuzz in tact, but the owner lost two fingers during the extraction. Dave’s circulation of the article to the Philly posse and other dog-loving friends prompted a few exchanges about whether or not we would do the same thing if, God forbid, we found ourselves in the same horrible situation.
I truly believe I would jump in to save Ollie or my god-dogs Howie, LuLu and Dolly, from anyone or anything, instinctively. But what if, I asked myself while procrastinating, I had the choice of losing a few digits and saving the average dog on the street, or merely calling 911 and hoping for the best? I’d like to say I’d think of this victimized pooch as my own. But the truth is, it would probably depend on the dog in question, the alligator in question, and of course, whether or not I’d just gotten a manicure.