Actually, I was bitten three times today... voluntarily! My dog handlers offered me the chance to wear the bite suit and be the bad guy. Who in his right mind could turn down the opportunity to run from something out of a nightmare while wearing a sweat/saliva soaked, baby blue Michelin Man suit that is as light and form-fitted as a wet roll of shag carpet? Of course, I had to accept. The decision was made easier by my other option, which was being eternally labeled as a chicken.
The rules were fairly simple:
1.) Keep my hands up and in. Fingers are bad for the dog's digestion, so it is wise not to put them a position to be eaten.
2.) Don't look at the dog as he bites me. This keeps the dog from going at my face. It sounds unnatural at first, but hiding my eyes (while concurrently squealing like a little girl) was much easier than I care to admit.
3.) Keep fighting the dog until told to stop. This encourages him hold on hard and not look around for a funner spot to chew on, such as my crotch, fingers, feet, face, etc. BTW, "funner" is a word.
4.) Don't fall on the dog. Over $30,000 has probably been invested in the dog. Vets are a dime a dozen.
BTW, dogs are telepathic. I know I heard a gleeful, demented voice crowing in my brain while I was getting drug through the dirt and pine needles... "Check my prostate again you bleep bleeped, bleep bleeping bleep of a bleep, I dare you!"
-Nate
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