Rogue dog(s) attack!

Who or whatever sent me that rogue wave at Goat Beach five or so days ago, delivered me to another rogue experience at Pfeiffer Beach in Big Sur just before sundown yesterday.

I was walking along, thoroughly enjoying the various dogs that are allowed to accompany their people on this particular beach, saying hello to some of them, petting others. All friendly. I was feeling particularly relaxed and content, having napped in the early afternoon. A picnic dinner at sunset in daypack, sand underfeet, ears open to the crash of the surf on this dramatic and rocky beach where waves roar in through openings created by enormous rocks . . . when suddenly, out of the blue, in the corner of my eye two Australian shepherd dogs hurtle at me from 20 feet away. I turned to face them, thinking they too, will be friendly and want to play.

I think now that at first they just somehow had picked out me as an animal to herd, nipping at my ankles and legs. But then one of them actually bit me, hard, on the back of the left thigh, drawing blood. A puncture wound. Suddenly the situation had turned extremely serious for all three of us. I started raging at them and they went into full-on gang behavior whipping into a frenzy and circling endlessly opposite one another, so that as I was yelling furiously and rushing towards one of them the other was moving in for the kill. This went on and on (how long? how long is eternity?) until the dogs' owners, two girls perhaps in their late teens or early 20s, finally arrived from where they had been sitting, perhaps 300 feet away, and tried to capture them. To no avail. The frenzy worsened, always the dogs were aiming for me, teeth bared, ears back, barking and whipping faster and faster, easily eluding their mistresses.

At some point, three young men arrived, and formed a defensive line in front of me. It still took many more minutes for the girls to corral their dogs and leash them.

They have collars, with rabies tags. The girls said their shots were current, in fact one had had his shot just last week (sudden thought: could a rabies shot stimulate rabid behavior in rare cases?). That this had never happened before, and they were so sorry, etc. etc.

All sorts of thoughts went through my head, chief among them just how seriously should I treat the wound? I rubbed a little water on it from my water bottle, and sat down in a sheltered spot to eat. But how could I eat? My adrenaline was still pumping furiously. The whole ordeal had taken perhaps five or six minutes—a lifetime, in a survival scenario. At this point I was simultaneously both extremely agitated and totally depleted. Had I tried to eat I probably would have thrown up.

I walked back to the ranger station, taking care to give the girls and their leashed dogs, also walking back, a wide berth. I asked the ranger if he had a first aid kit. No. But would I like to file an Incident Report? I was inclined not to, but decided that I might regret it if I did not. As he was getting out the form, I saw the girls and dogs in their car, and indicated to him the culprits. He walked over to them and was gone for some time. Meanwhile, a pleasant, middle-aged couple in a rented VW Vanagon was at the gate, and heard what was going on. I asked them if they had a first aid kit. YES! They rooted around the van, saying they knew the rental agency had given them one, and finally found it. The woman administered to the wound, while the man started talking about seeing a doctor, and that I should take pictures, in case it goes to court.

The ranger then walked up, saying that he had noticed the aggressiveness of those dogs when they came in. That he had got one of the women's names and her birth date and the car license. He then copied them for me. When the man (of the couple) heard that the girl's last name was "Rodriguez" he started ranting (only half in jest) about how all the Mexicans have attack dogs. On and on, despite the protestations of me and his wife.

And that was but the beginning.

I went down the road to where I had seen a medical station for Big Sur. Closed.

Went to the restaurant of the motel where I'm staying and told the woman at the desk. Instantly empathic, she left to get me a cup of hot soup for the road (gratis) and wrote down directions to the closed Doctors on Duty office (open 24 hours, she said), in Monterey, a 45 minute drive on winding cliff roads.

The attack had taken place about 6:20 p.m. The sun was setting over the ocean as I drove that road, still over-stimulated and slightly panicky.

Arrived at the doctor's office at 8:10 p.m. The office had closed at 8:00 p.m.

Went next door to a Blockbusters, where a sweet young man looked up the numbers for other Doctors on Duty offices in the area. I called one of them. The woman on the other end of the line said they were closed, and then, as I was starting to ask another question, hung up on me! He then gave me the address and directions for the Monterey County Hospital, to which I drove, arriving about 8:30. Had to wait until 9:45 to be seen, not bad, considering it's Labor Day weekend. The doctor dressed the wound again and prescribed a heavy antibiotic orally. Gave me directions to the nearest 24-hour pharmacy, a Walgreens, 5 miles away. Had to get gas first, or I wouldn't make it back to Big Sur. Did that. At the pharmacy, they told me it would be a 20-minute wait. Instead of waiting, I went to the grocery store to get yogurt, so that my gut wouldn't suffer too much from the antibiotic (really need probiotics, but health food stores probably won't open until after Labor Day, two days hence).

Even as I was absorbed in wrestling with the ongoing saga of my trauma, I noticed that the car parked next to mine at Walgreens held a woman and her pre-teen son, both huddled with blankets on, trying to be invisible. Homeless. Sudden switch from focus on me to her much more difficult situation. Then sudden switch again, this time to how lonely I feel in having go through this medical emergency alone. Then again, back to her. Who cares about my trivial evening's ordeal when some people are on survival's edge much much longer, even their whole lives.

Finally got on the road back to Big Sur about 11:15 p.m., after stopping for a to-go hamburger to ground my energy, figuring otherwise I would be a menace on the dark twisty narrow road so late at night. (And geez! It's late at night on Labor Day weekend. What about drunks coming at me! Mentally, I call upon all my guides and angels to keep me safe.) Could barely down half of the burger, but it did do the trick. Arrived back here at the motel, without further incident, at 11:59 p.m.

Went immediately to the computer to see the astrological configuration in the heavens for the moment of the dog attack. As I suspected, the Midheaven/Immum Coeli axis of the chart for that moment was exactly conjunt the Mars/Uranus opposition in my natal chart. Mars/Uranus can mean "sudden, violent action," and it certainly did, this time. But what made this moment so very propitious was that transit Saturn had just moved that very day, after two and a half years in lordly Leo, into Virgo, where it squares (90° away from) my natal Mars/Uranus. Virgo, which often deals with health issues, calls us to focus very precisely in the moment, and pay extremely close attention to detail. This I did; this I had to do all during that unexpected five-hour ordeal, most of it at night, with directions to many places scribbled on tiny pieces of paper and making sure, during that whole long strange trip, to not misplace keys or wallet, not hit other cars on the twisty road nor even for a nanosecond look away from the center of the road lest I plunge over a thousand floot drop to the sea.

THIS is R&R? Some kind of cosmic joke? Anyway, good fodder for practicing staying aware in the present moment. The poison oak is spreading, but who cares? All things are relative.

And of course, speaking of astrology, I forgot to mention again that transit Pluto is turning this week, to go direct, and so much more emphasized that usual, and that it happens to be, for the first and only time in my life, exactly conjunct my natal Sun. Twice in one week, I've endured sudden, unexpected life-death situations. Each one a death of sorts, cleansing me of all that went before, opening me to the sheer exhilaration of the present moment.

And by the way, that incident required that I open to encounters with perhaps 18 other people, most of whom were very nurturing and supportive.