Welcome To Florida Young Man

Welcome To Florida Young Man

By Jim Plante

Lake Worth, Florida, sits just west of Boca Ratan and right next door to West Palm Beach. My cousin’s condo was about two or three miles inland from the ocean, but you could still smell the beach everywhere. It was also pretty warm there compared to New England, where I lived and just flown in from. There was hardly a job to be found in the northeast in the late 1980s. Wintertime made the job market even worse, so I decided to take up my cousin’s job offer to work with him at the construction company he ran building houses. If things worked out, I was going to move there for good. At the very least, I could spend a Christmas in a warm climate with family instead of freezing my tail off alone. I was free to do whatever I wanted as far as the move was concerned. I was a single mid-twenties young man with no kids, a healthy, able body, and a willingness to work hard. The only commitment I had was with the Army Reserves. After my time on active duty, I needed to serve more time to fulfill my obligation to the country. So, if I decided to stay in Florida, I’d need to find another Engineer Unit to finish my time until I got out. I left New England the day after my last drill in November, giving me 30 days to decide what to do.

But the day I arrived there, I already had doubts about taking up permanent lodging in the Sunshine State. First of all, the words November, December, Hot, and Humid were never usually found in the same sentence in New England. I wasn't used to that. There was also a story on the news about the police searching for a little girl who had disappeared in broad daylight the day before. No one knew what had happened to her until they found a single child’s sneaker in a creek running through a park in town. It matched the description of what the missing child had been wearing when she disappeared. It didn’t take long for them to realize it was hers because her foot was still inside of it. It had been torn off her leg by what they could have only imagined was an alligator. They were known to frequent the inlet. It was all over the news and a sorrowful story, I’d have to say.

My cousin told me to be keenly aware of where I was at all times and never leave home without a weapon of some kind. But he said I didn’t have to worry so much about the alligators in the area. You'd never stand a chance if they set their sights on you. They do that death-roll maneuver of theirs, and they can run just as fast as any dog. Damn! I didn’t know that. So, if they clamp on any part of you, that part of you is as good as gone. It rarely happens, but it happens. I don’t think they ever found the alligator or the missing girl, and after a while, the authorities just gave her up for dead. What a gruesome way to go just before Christmas. I couldn't imagine the little girl's horror once she realized what was happening to her. There was no real closure for the family either, just a lifelong nightmare of what might have happened.

  Summertime in Florida was not a place for amateurs. It wasn't much different in the first few weeks of December either, when I first checked out the beaches in West Palm. Spotting a tourist any time of year was relatively simple, even though most people living there were probably not from Florida. Everyone on the planet knows it’s a favorite retirement spot for many seniors. The locals were smart enough to know that lying on the beach day after day for hours on end was a recipe for disaster. You’d be better off jumping straight into a bonfire at a college frat party. It’d be quicker than slowly melting the skin off your bones like a baked ham at a church picnic. You’ll suffer a similar fate either way. But at least you wouldn’t need to waste an entire week doing it lying on some beach all day while the rest of the world and your long-awaited vacation spot revolve around you. Then, at least, you can begin the process of healing faster.

After being there for about a few weeks, I decided to stroll down the block to the store. I still had no transportation, so I had to walk everywhere, so walking was what I did. I waited until it got dark out, and it cooled off a little so I wouldn’t get stuck in the hot sun on the 20-minute walk. It was just a little corner store and gas station, much like you’d find anywhere else around the country. Outside the house, it was dark, like pitch black dark, because there were no working light poles in the neighborhood, and my cousin's house had no outside lights either. What's wrong with these people, I wondered. I could see a few houses way down the road with Christmas lights hanging off them, but it did nothing to light my path. It was cloudy out that night, so it blocked the light from the moon. That would’ve helped some, but it wasn’t there. I had to rely solely on my night vision to see. But even then, it was still pitch black.

I got on my way, and only about 50 feet from the house, I heard a noise that sounded like galloping, like horses, I thought. Were there horses in the neighborhood I didn’t know about? I guess, maybe. I was still new to the area, so there were probably a lot of things I hadn't seen yet or didn't know about. I didn’t give it a second thought until it stopped for a few seconds and started up again, right near me on the street where I was walking. Then I recognized the sound for what it was when the galloping noise stopped again and began to growl at my feet. Oh crap, that was a dog. And not just one dog. There had to be at least two of them, maybe even three. My first instinct told me to stand perfectly still, but that could've resulted from hearing that God-awful sound but not seeing what was making it. I was almost instantly petrified. I couldn't have budged an inch in those first few moments if I wanted to. My feet were frozen in place.

The houses across the street from where I lived, separated only by a wooden fence, was a Haitian neighborhood, They all had dogs protecting their homes and property from anyone trying to enter. These were my neighbor's dogs, I imagined. When the galloping stopped, they must have jumped over the fence and landed in the street beside me. I could barely see them, but I could hear them loud and clear. When they began a fury of barking, snarling, and nipping at my legs, I got scared, and I’m not afraid to admit it now, but I couldn't show it then. They can smell fear in a human as sure as I could feel their rage in my direction. I caught a quick glimpse of a silhouette of one of the dog's heads, which I recognized to be a pit bull. I was surrounded by what I found out soon enough was three of them with an apparent taste for blood, mine. They seemed to be working as a team, encircling me in a frenzy of anger. I had no clue what they were so pissed about, but there they were. Back and forth they’d go: two in front and one in back, then two in the back and one in front.

I could tell what they were doing, but I was no less frozen in my tracks and developing a panic attack. I could feel my heart rate increase to the point that I thought it was going to pop right out of my chest, and I was deathly afraid to move. But every time I’d take a step or reach in my back pocket for my knife, they’d take another bite out of my legs. I nip here, a nip there, but they never really latched on and got their jaws locked on me at all. I was lucky. I thought I was about to be mauled, and that’s really what was beginning to happen. I did nothing to provoke these animals; I was just walking down the street. They jumped a fence to start feasting on my flesh and bone. I knew they were drawing blood, too; I could feel it begin to run down my legs. I began to roar back at them at the top of my lungs with the same ferocious blend of provocation and lust for the gore they wanted to inflict on me. They must have known then they were in for a fight. And I sure wasn't going down without one.

There were still unseen bite marks on me from my thighs to my ankles, front and back. I knew they were there because I felt them. Each time they tore another chunk of skin from me, I shook my legs wildly, trying to get them away from me, but they didn't leave. But I felt no physical pain at all. I guess it was because of all the adrenaline pumping. What I did feel, however, was fear and wave upon wave of building anger. I needed to escape somehow and get back to the house before they tore me apart. C'mon, just before Christmas? Really? This is not how I wanted to die. Hell, I didn't want to die at all. I’ve faced much worse than this in the service and got through it. Maybe not without a scratch, but I survived. That’s what they taught us how to do: survive. It’s Kill or be killed, pretty simple stuff really. Hesitation will kill you every time. I had to find a way to either kill these dogs or escape if I was going to survive. I had nothing but my wit and a little four-inch buck knife. That’s when the adrenaline really kicked in, and my Army instinct and training took over. I wasn’t scared anymore; now I was just plain angry.

 I knew every time I’d try to take a step, they’d take a bite or two, ripping more of my flesh wide open with more puncture wounds, depleting more of my blood supply. Extending my arm to reach for the knife in my back pocket was no exception. So, screw it. I had no choice. I wasn’t going to die, so I began a slow, painful trek back to the house one step at a time, sustaining more and more bite wounds as I went. The more I moved, the more furious the growling and barking became. Where were all the damn people, I wondered. Wasn’t anyone hearing this commotion? Maybe they were all too scared to come outside to help. I was getting a little angry at the neighbors I'd never met for not at least trying to provide some kind of a distraction for the animals so they'd leave me alone. I was in a fight for my life out there in the middle of the street, and no one showed up to help. I don't know; maybe no one was at home. Probably all out Christmas shopping, I thought.

Eventually, I got hold of my knife and exposed the blade as quickly as I could, but that cost me an additional three or four bites out of my already bloody legs. I began to swing it around and managed to stab one or two of the dogs as they came after me. There had to be blood drawn from the dogs, too, but I couldn’t see it. All I heard was the high-pitched yelping after sticking the knife into them as far as I could manage to get it. I wanted to complete the job, but they backed off as soon as I connected, and that only seemed to make them even angrier. I still couldn’t see them well, but I could hear the snarling and the fierce barking clearly. My head was on a swivel as I tried to predict their next move, turning it from side to side while swinging the knife as I went. I could hear them breathing heavily and whining a little now. Between the barking, growling, and the twisted symphony of twelve heavy-protruded claws scraping against the ground as they made their way around me is a sound I’ll never forget. As I neared the house again, I had to figure out a way to get inside without allowing them to follow me, so I just kept swinging the knife around like a crazed lunatic, screaming at these vicious creatures to back off. They finally did, just long enough for me to get inside the door alone. I slammed it shut and exhaled a sigh of relief.

 My bare legs were covered in blood by now and dripping all over the carpet of my cousin’s living room. I made it. The adrenaline started to wear off after a few moments once I knew I was safe. The sense of relief washed over me like a tidal wave. They got me good, but I was also able to inflict some considerable damage on them as well. Toward the end, it became like a tit-for-tat thing, going back and forth with each of us drawing more blood from the other. The air conditioning in the house was always on, and it felt pretty good right about then, cooling off my sweaty skin. I didn’t realize how hot and humid it was outside in the darkness until I returned inside. After I had retrieved a couple of towels from the bathroom closet to cover my open and oozing wounds, I went to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, called 911 and reported what had happened. I realized then, as I was on the corded phone, that I had left a trail of bloody prints from the bottom of my sneakers four feet in front of the Christmas tree. There were three rabid pit bulls in the neighborhood running loose; I told them that they needed to come and do something about it. They did, and two cars showed up in less than five minutes.

I watched the show from the safety of the living room window in my cousin's home. The animal control officers encountered the dogs right away. They slowly exited their cars, but I don’t think they expected what they had found. It was too dark outside to make out facial expressions or the tell-tale body language or movements hinting at their surprise coming up on three bloody, barking, snarling, and very pissed-off pit bulls. The beaming headlights from the squad cars shone up the darkness, making it seem like I was watching an old black and white movie.

Now, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their muffled voices went from a normal volume to yelling to screaming frantically when one of the dogs jumped on one of the officers and began an attack on him with the other two close behind. Before I knew what was happening, a barrage of gunfire erupted in my quiet neighborhood as all four of the officers fatally shot and killed all three of the beasts who had a thirst for human blood. Despite being a veteran, I jumped when I heard that familiar sound and crouched under the windowsill until it stopped. That was more human instinct than Army training. When the bullets started flying, I got down low and took cover. I didn’t want to get hit by a stray projectile. When I looked up again, the officers, with their weapons still in hand, stood over the fresh corpses of three dead animals lying motionless in the roadway right outside my door. I went outside to see them and the dogs. They were dead, alright. Thank God for this sick Christmas Miracle. The officers could see my blood-soaked legs after shining a flashlight on me and asking me if I was the one who called. I said yes.

Later, they told me they would have the dogs tested for Rabies, all three of them, and they did belong to the neighbor, just like I thought. They all had tags, oddly enough. The numbers on those tags indicated the address across the street from where we stood. The owner of the dogs was about to get a visit from the Lake Worth PD. They sent me to the hospital on my own accord to get treated and begin a series of rabies shots if it was needed. Before leaving, they gave me a copy of the police report and told me I did the right thing by standing there and doing what I did. If I had run or fallen while trying to get away, I would’ve probably been mauled for sure and maybe even killed. They would have “torn me limb from limb,” they said. They told me I was lucky, and I felt fortunate to be alive after that. We spoke briefly after that, and they also assured me they were okay. I thanked them for what they did for me and for ridding the world of the dogs that attacked me. “You know”, I said. “When I first moved here a few weeks ago, I heard about the little girl who was eaten by an alligator. I thought that was bad enough and I was warned to be careful because they could be anywhere. But being attacked by rabid dogs? No. I wasn’t expecting that. It never even made a blip on my radar; go figure.” Finally, just as they were about to drive away, they looked at me and said, “Get to a hospital, get a lawyer, Merry Christmas, and oh yeah, welcome to Florida, young man.”