For them, always.

I’m not writing this because I want to relive it.

I'm writing it because I need it out of my head.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it again. I hear it again. And maybe if I write it down, if I let other people carry a little piece of it with me, I won't have to carry it alone.

---

There are trade-offs to owning any dog.

People often talk about the benefits of small dogs, and there are so many. They're your little shadow. They curl up against you at night. You can scoop them into your arms, take them on adventures, and they somehow manage to fit into every part of your life.

But there are trade-offs.

When your dogs weigh four pounds, the world comes across a little differently.

A jump off the couch can become a broken leg. You're constantly checking the sky for birds of prey. Every unfamiliar dog gets assessed before you get too close.

And for me, there has always been one fear above everything else.

A dog attack.

It has always been my worst nightmare.

Ask anyone in my family. If they're watching Birdie and Hennessy, they've heard the lecture.

Watch for loose dogs.

Keep them close.

Don't let your guard down.

When I walk through my neighbourhood, I'm constantly scanning. If a dog came charging, where could I put them? A mailbox? A recycling bin? An open car? Anything high enough to buy us a few seconds.

I've rehearsed that scenario in my head more times than I can count.

I just never imagined the day would come when there would be nowhere to run.

---

It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

I decided to take the girls on our usual neighbourhood walk before it got too warm. We'd barely made it four houses from home when I heard barking.

I looked over toward a property where two large dogs usually spent their days inside a makeshift fenced area.

I've walked by that yard countless times.

And every single time I'd think to myself:

"If those dogs ever got out..."

This time, they had.

And they were already running toward us.

I reacted without thinking.

I scooped Birdie and Hennessy into my arms as high as I could hold them, tucked them tightly against my chest, and whispered for them to stay quiet.

Please don't bark.

Please don't move.

Please let these dogs lose interest.

For a moment, I thought they might.

I could feel them sniffing around my legs while I stood completely still with my back turned, trying not to make eye contact.

Birdie and Hennessy, who normally would have been barking, were silent.

I think they could sense the danger we were in.

Suddenly the silence shifted.

One of the dogs reached up, grabbed Birdie by her leg, and yanked.

Her scream is something I don't think I'll ever forget.

The second she screamed, Hennessy screamed too.

Suddenly both dogs were jumping, biting, grabbing at their hind ends, trying to pull my girls from my arms.

I started screaming.

Not yelling.

Screaming.

The loudest I have ever screamed in my life.

There was nobody.

No mailbox.

No recycling bin.

No open vehicle.

Nothing.

The escape plan I'd imagined so many times simply didn't exist.

The only thoughts going through my head were:

Don't drop them.

Protect their ribs.

Protect their necks.

Protect their faces.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on.

I couldn't fight the dogs off.

Both of my arms were wrapped around the girls as tightly as I could manage.

I could only hold them while these two large dogs kept pulling.

At one point Birdie slipped from my arms and hit the ground.

The dogs were on her instantly.

I threw myself over her with everything I had.

But protecting Birdie meant Hennessy was now exposed.

I remember thinking something no one should ever have to think.

Do I try to save one?

Or do I lose them both?

I was about to watch my dogs be ripped apart in front of me.

---

Then I heard a voice.

A woman was standing beside her truck.

I don't even remember how I got to her.

I just remember begging.

"Please. Please let me in your truck."

Without really knowing what was happening, she opened the door.

I threw the girls inside.

Then I climbed in after them.

Only once the doors shut did I realize I was covered in blood.

There was blood everywhere.

There was feces from the girls' fear.

My chest was covered with scratches and my hand covered in bites.

I'd lost my shoes somewhere during the attack.

But my girls were breathing.

They were still breathing.

I looked at the woman and said the only thing I could think of.

"Please take us to the vet."

She didn't hesitate.

She just drove.

I don't know if she'll ever realize what she did for us that morning.

But I will spend the rest of my life grateful to her.

We arrived about ten minutes before the clinic opened.

She rang the bell.

Nothing.

So we went around to the staff entrance and knocked until someone came.

The moment they saw us, they acted.

The girls were rushed inside.

They checked their vitals.

Birdie had several puncture wounds and significant bruising across her abdomen. They performed an ultrasound to make sure there wasn't internal bleeding.

Somehow...

Somehow...

Neither of my girls had life-threatening injuries.

I still don't quite understand how.

It doesn't make sense.

Two tiny dogs against two dogs ten times their size.

By every calculation, it should have ended differently.

Whether it was luck, fate, God, or something I don't have words for, something protected them.

And I will never stop being grateful for that.

---

My sister drove an hour and a half to be with me. Surely breaking speed limits.

I can’t thank her enough for being by my side.

We brought the girls home with medications, pain relief, fluids, and sedation to help them through the shock. I was put on antibiotics.

The days afterward were almost as hard as the attack itself.

Watching them limp.

Cleaning puncture wounds.

Flushing injuries.

Trying to stop them from licking the places that hurt.

Seeing cones replace their happy little faces.

It broke my heart.

But every night, when they climbed into bed beside me, I realized something.

I still had them.

I had honestly believed I would never see them again.

Never hear Birdie's little snore.

Never feel Hennessy curled against my neck.

Never complain about them taking up too much room in the bed.

And suddenly all of those ordinary moments became extraordinary.

---

People have called me ‘supermom’.

I don't know if that's the right word.

I wasn't brave because I wasn't fearless.

I was terrified.

I just loved them more than I feared what might happen to me.

If I learned anything that morning, it's this:

Love doesn't always look calm.

Sometimes love looks like screaming until your voice gives out.

Sometimes it looks like bruises and scratches and bites.

Sometimes it looks like throwing yourself between danger and the ones you love most.

Birdie and Hennessy would have done anything to stay close to me.

That morning, it was my turn to do the same for them.

They're healing now.

Slowly.

I'm healing too.

A little more slowly than they are.

I still don't sleep or eat well.

I still replay it in my head.

I still look over my shoulder every time we go outside.

Maybe I always will.

But every morning I wake up and see two tiny dogs curled up beside me, and I remember that I still get another day with them.

And after everything that happened, I know I’m the luckiest girl in the world for it,