![\"\"](\"http:\/\/mydoublelifeinitaly.files.wordpress.com\/2012\/01\/l-153.jpg\" "\\"L-153\\"")
<\/a><\/p>\nBuster was our first Maremma sheepdog, a large, sweet-smelling snowball of an animal, \u00a0who was \u00a0maturing, \u00a0healthily, \u00a0towards his retirement. \u00a0He was an excellent guard dog, most of the time, but if there were female pheromones in the air he could climb an eight foot fence as if he were Spiderman. \u00a0 Always attentive to any changes in his surroundings, we counted on him to alert us to arrivals, especially those people, animals, \u00a0or automobiles that were not included in his repertoire of acceptable objects. \u00a0 We were his flock.<\/p>\n
My son attended an elementary school far from here, on the opposite side of town. \u00a0It was the same building to which my husband had trudged every day as a child. \u00a0 There is a distinct possibility that \u00a0some of the desks \u00a0were the same ones he \u00a0sat behind on those \u00a0days when the classroom windows mocked the children with \u00a0their tempting views of grass and sunshine. \u00a0 At the back of this school building, there was a fenced area on the edge of the valley below. \u00a0Even now, the fenced area is used to keep livestock; sheep, goats, the occasional cow. \u00a0 On this day, a horse.<\/p>\n
A moment of distraction, a latch not properly closed, and this horse found it was suddenly free. \u00a0But freedom in town has a different countenance than \u00a0freedom in the country, and the streets are in constant movement. \u00a0Cars, people, bicycles, motorbikes, and above all asphalt and noise conspired to alarm the horse to the point of panic, and it began to run through the streets. \u00a0It galloped away from the school, around the road which rings the town, and on towards imaginary pastures, despite the best efforts of some to slow it down.<\/p>\n
Two kilometers, four, six, and the horse continued its gallop until it came to the long gravel road leading eventually to our house. \u00a0 Our yard is fenced, and we have a large gate which normally keeps the dogs in and intruders out. \u00a0This day, \u00a0because we had been \u00a0doing yardwork, it was standing slightly open. \u00a0I heard frantic barking, and inside the house I felt a pounding rhythmical vibration. \u00a0At the window there was \u00a0an incredible sight, a large horse furiously throwing up divots of earth as it raced around and around the house in circles. \u00a0 \u00a0Buster was close on its heels and the animal was becoming more agitated, spooked \u00a0by his attempts to nip its lower legs as it ran. \u00a0 It continued to circle madly, ignorant of the open gate by which it entered, and which \u00a0would allow it to tear off down the road, away from the dog.<\/p>\n
I used to be a horse owner, so I know a little bit about how to behave around them. \u00a0But a panicked horse is anything but rational, and it is dangerous. \u00a0 \u00a0Not having the means to calm it, I opted for guiding it out the gate by creating a diversion. \u00a0I ran to grab a hoe, a towel, anything to wave in the air and cause the horse to change trajectory. \u00a0Suddenly I heard a crack, the unmistakable sound of \u00a0a bat hitting a baseball hard enough to send it hurtling out of the park. \u00a0 But this was not going to be a home run for the team. \u00a0I turned, dodging as the horse ran straight toward me and the open gate, to see Buster sitting, dazed, pawing energetically at his muzzle. \u00a0Blood poured from his mouth. \u00a0 It was one of those moments when disbelief gives way to knowledge that things have changed, and for the worse.<\/p>\n
As the horse pounded out of the gate and back up the road, \u00a0I prepared myself for what I would see. \u00a0The horse had kicked Buster with such force directly in the teeth that his entire boney upper jaw, \u00a0teeth included, had been detached from the front of his mouth. It was still attached by the muscles and some of the gum, but it was no longer a viable part of him. \u00a0The vet was called, antibiotics and pain relievers were administered, the injured area was removed, and we waited. \u00a0At the time our small town vet, who was occupied primarily with livestock, \u00a0made housecalls only. \u00a0He did not have any walk-in facilities, so we had to do without major operations on our animals. \u00a0Buster had been neutered in our own garage on a picnic table, with the aid of some kitchen utensils and a massive dose of horse tranquilizer.<\/p>\n
After a time, poor Buster healed. \u00a0He required softer food, and his fighting days were over, but he got along comfortably enough. \u00a0I keep one of his enormous canine teeth as a memento of that day. \u00a0He has long since passed away and moved on to that other place where good dogs dwell. \u00a0 We never had any contact from the owner of the horse, assuming that an unhappy accident is no grounds for exacting any payment or apology. \u00a0 Another horse has never arrived here unexpectedly, thundering down our road with evil intent. \u00a0But I often think of Buster when casual circumstances \u00a0seem to align, improbably, and give rise to a \u00a0momentous event.<\/p>\n