“Vector bit me!” cried my toddler, Nicholas. Unconvinced, given Nicholas’ active imagination, I rose to investigate. I found myself arbitrating between one party — my beloved son, frequently incapable of telling the truth, and another — my beloved rescue dog, inherently incapable of telling me anything. At first glance, no clues.
But for once my toddler wasn’t exaggerating. Evidenced by the pink tears streaming down his face, Vector had bit-ten him right on the cheek, fiercely enough to draw blood. Nicholas was screaming, and I was … stunned.
To say this was uncharacteristic of Vector would be an understatement akin to shrugging nonchalantly as Lassie devoured Timmy (of the 1954 Lassie TV series). At 9 years old, Vector had never displayed aggression toward people — especially not his immediate family — and his time with us predated Nicholas’ existence. Since becoming a four-legged big brother in 2016, Vector had taken the standard whacks, shoves, yanks and tumbles to which small children subject their dogs with diplomatic indifference.
Vector loved Nicholas and vice versa. So what, exactly, had happened?
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