The successful television writer’s swimming pool had patio stone and cyclone fencing surrounding it. The family liked to keep their dogs locked up inside that fence. They had three dogs, a big one, a medium sized one, and a small aged yapper. They all appeared to be mutts. The big one and the small one were mostly mellow, but that damned medium sized dog just didn’t like the caddy and netting pole I carried into the pool area to service the water. He always charged on me barking and showing teeth in a super unpleasant snarl. He just wouldn’t stop. Typically he would clock his own head on my caddy - I used it as a sort ‘a shield to keep him from successfully biting me. He always lunged at me at least one time per visit.
I’d been bit once before while doing my pool route. That occurred at a pool I serviced in Hollywood. A little yelping mutt came tearing out of a neighbor’s yard - out from under the front hedges - while I set my caddy down to unlock a fence door along side of the house to the pool I was to work on. Little f###er jutted out barked six or seven quick yaps and promptly bit my ankle just above the top of my shoe. The little dog seemed to scare himself with his attack by tooth and scuttled off as quickly as he had charged onto me. His owner had sauntered some eight to ten feet out the front door. Watching over his lawn while letting his annoying mutt out to take a leak. Startled, I went to kick the little annoyance in the head as he bit me, but he was too fast and took off.
“Damn it.” I exclaimed as the culprit ran back under the shrubs that lined the front of that house. I let the steel gate I was holding slam. The fellow in the front lawn seemed half asleep - it was 1 pm and he was lounging in the front yard in his pajamas.
“What'?” he asked as he picked up his precious critter. I think he was talking to his dog. “What?” And he looked at me while holding the dog who had just bit my ankle. I could see bloody teeth marks on my ankle.
“You’re dog just bit me.”
“What? No, my dog doesn’t bite.”
I had stated it as a simple fact the first time, but on the second assertion I did raise my sincerity on the subject - “You’re dog just bit me! I’m bleeding!”
“And I’m telling you that my dog doesn’t bite!”
“You know what, f### off dude, you want to be a losey pet owner like that go ahead. But if it happens again chances are I might drop my caddy on him. Keep control of him please!”
Pajama Boy shuffled back into his house with a prideful shoulder swag, fully assured he and his little dog had done nothing wrong.
My ankle stopped bleeding by the time I got to my next pool.
Several months after the little Hollywood dog attack on my ankle I pulled up to the Successful Television Writer’s home in Santa Clarita. I parked on the street. Pulled the caddy and pole out of the back of my purple Ford Ranger and made my way to the gate that led to the pool in the back. I opened the gate without placing my gear down, stepped through, using my foot I carefully pushed the gate to close. Several steps brought me past the side of the house and I could see all three dogs were locked into the pool area. I put my caddy and net pole down on the ground and went back out the gate to the front of the house. I knocked on the door and reminded myself that a calm approach would be best. Mr. Successful Television Writer’s Wife answered the door. She was always very pleasant. She was talking to someone on the phone and pulled it from her ear as she interacted with me.
“Hi John. What’s up?”
“I need you to get your dogs out of the pool area.”
It seemed like she didn’t really get it - “Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure one of your dogs doesn’t like me.”
“What? Don’t be silly.” And she kind of laughed as she spoke.
Out of some weird subservient politeness I too laughed when I responded, “No I’m pretty sure my caddy and net pole gets the mid sized dog worked up.”
“No - our dogs don’t bite.”
“Well, he hasn’t bitten me yet, but he’s come close, and I just think it might be better if they weren’t in the pool area when I service your pool.”
The nice lady completely dismissed my request. “It’ll be okay. And she placed her phone back up to her ear and continued speaking with whoever as she politely closed the door on me.
Concerned, yet in need of money, I made my way back around through the gate to the side of the house where I had left my pool cleaning gear. The medium sized dog saw me. He ran to the closest part of the gate towards me, which was right next to the gate door to let me in. The other dogs followed suit and all three dogs started barking. For a moment I considered just leaving. Only I’ve already stated it - I needed the money so I picked up my gear and headed to the pool gate.
Most of us have always been told that dogs sense fear. So I spent some energy on trying to remain calm - but that medium sized dog was bearing fangs as I stopped at the gate. I cautiously lifted the locking arm on top of the fence allowing me to swing the gate open as I pleaded with the mid-size mongrel to not bite me.
“Hey buddy. Calm down now. Look I know you don’t like me. I get it. I’m unwelcome here, but I'm coming in.”
My little plea did not impress Growler. He looked like a mini wolf with his fangs protruding in the way that they showed. Brown, matted hair. Pointed ears. A small tuft around his neck. Super aggressive stance. Unflinching commitment to keeping me out of his space.
I thought perhaps I could rationalize things to him - “Look, I have to come in buddy. It’s my job. Not that I really want to do it. But I have to keep the pool up for your family.”
Wild Fang was unimpressed.
“Mr. Successful Television Writer Guy wants me here. After all, it's his pool. You and I are just sharing his space.”
And I squeezed through the gate holding my caddy as a shield between me and Wild Fang. The large dog and the tiny dog were bored and had moved off. The big guy found a spot in the shade and lied down, the small fellow ran chasing a butterfly. Only Wild Fang just couldn’t give it up. I made my way over to the strainer and started to set my caddy down to start working on the pool. That dog wouldn’t stop so I stood holding the caddy trying to reason with this fellow.
“Look, dog, this is getting ridiculous. I have to get to managing your pool and I can’t do that if you’re not going to let me do that.”
The dog charged attempting to bite my right thigh. I pushed the large plastic caddy into his face. I dropped my net pole and started walking to the gate. My new plan was to just exit the pool area and then come up with a new plan. The dog went crazy and tried to bite me yet again. Again, I pushed him back with the large pool caddy. As I did I picked up the pace to a hussle. The mad dog bounced off the caddy as I jammed it into his flapping teeth and he scooted around to my back side. Thinking I had somehow outsmarted him I increased my pace. The dog thinking I had left myself open to attack bit me in the ass! Right at the top of my hamstring where it melds into the glut. Once he bit me in the ass my body just moved without thought and I turned with the caddy placing it back between the mad dog and I and I backed out shielding myself from further attack.
Once on the outside of the pool fencing I dropped the caddy and grabbed my ass. It was my right cheek. I grabbed with my right hand. The pain was at the bottom of my glut. I cussed, “Mother Fligger, (not actually what I said)” and pulled my hand to look at it. I did not see any blood. It still hurt and a thought gave me the impulse to reach through between my legs with my left hand to perhaps gain a better understanding. I reached through and grabbed the top of my hamstring and after a moment of fumbling I could feel the fabric of my jeans had been torn. It was like a two to three inch flap. I dug around in the tatters of my right jean leg. Several inches below the base of my glute on the upper part of the back of my leg I stumbled upon an area that shot a pain vibe to my head once I touched it. After a quick feel I pulled my hand in front of my face and three fingers and my thumb had blood on them.
I took time to assess the damage, albeit, in an area within reach only impossible to see.
I ascertained it was most likely not worthy of a hospital visit but it was going to cut my work day short so I could head home and soak my ass in a warm bath of Epsom salts then pour some alcohol over the wounds.
I hustled around to the front door. I knocked, not as nice as I had the first time. There was no answer so I had to knock again. The Successful Television Writer’s Wife finally answered the door. She was still talking on the phone with whoever. “Hold on just a minute,” and again she placed the phone on her shoulder to muffle what we were about to discuss.
“Your dog just bit me!'“
“What?” Then into the phone - “Wait, hold on.” Then she covered the phone.
“Your dog just bit me - the medium sized one!”
Slow to realize I was being serious she responded with a dull - “No!”
“Yea. Bit me in the ass, you wanna see the blood?!”
By now The Successful Television Writer’s Wife had figured it out. “What? No? Look Cass, I got to go! No- no I got to go. Talk soon.” She hung up the phone and looked at me. “What happened? No? She couldn’t have. Our dogs don’t bite.”
“Here look. Take a look! My jeans are torn.” And I wheeled my posterior side at her and bent forward exposing the tear in my jeans.
The next morning I received a phone call. It was Mr. Successful Television Writer. “John. My wife let me know what happened yesterday. We feel terrible.”
I responded. Mostly to keep the flow of the conversation entact - “Yea.”
Without missing a beat The Successful Television Writer continued, “We will euthanize the animal right away…” And then he drifted into an intentional pause.
“Yea, right. I want you to kill your family pet - what I want you to do is to keep your dogs out of the pool area on days that I show up to service your swimming pool!”
“No, no, we’ll euthanize the dog if that’s what you want!”
It doesn’t really matter if this fellow felt that was the correct thing to do under the circumstances, or, if he was simply protecting his financial success, I’m certain he would kill the animal if I said “Yes.” I believe he was overly insistent due to the legalistic ramifications, and for that reason only.
“I realize this was, no doubt, a traumatic experience for you. That you showed up to take care of our pool and ended up being wounded by one of our animals…” And he went on a verbal jag that seemed to have been prepared by a legal team. I felt like it was something he thought was a necessity, so out of politeness I just listened to his overly stated dissertation. When he was done I responded.
“Look. I don’t want to be responsible for the death of your family pet. I do want you guys to understand that your dogs hassle me every time I come to service your pool. I have told your wife this and she didn’t believe me so every time I come out I’ve been concerned I would be bitten, and, now, well, I have been bitten. Please just keep your dogs out of the pool area - you don’t have to kill them on my account.”
His final final consideration on the matter was - “Are you sure?” (Man, it seems, owning things like a nice house with a big pool sure can put pressure on you about doing the right legal disposition in these matters. I couldn’t believe how insistent this fellow was about getting rid of his dog in the name of doing the right thing.) Then he offered me some money to smooth things over. It was like an absurd amount, like, a couple grand.
Realizing the slightly torn flesh on my back side would be healed in a few days, not having to go to the hospital, well knowing I never had any intention of suing this fellow, I responded with, “Listen. How ‘bout I present you with a receipt for a new pair of jeans the next time I see you and we’ll call it even. Okay? And let’s keep your dogs out of the pool area on the days I come out to service your pool!”
© John Reneaud 2025 all rights reserved
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