Running for her life, endeavoring to escape the terror that was fast approaching the doe was already fatigued.

Her ragged breath and rolling eyes indicated her primordial fear for she instinctively understood the inevitable outcome of the contest if she was to so much as falter.

The snow hampered her progress, dragging at her, holding her back in this desperate race for life itself. With each bound she broke through the icy crust that covered the snow, but she continued to struggle forward in her terror-stricken flight.

For over two hours they had been pursuing her and now even if she were to miraculously escape the blood lust of the pack at her heels it was unlikely that she would survive for long.

This race had caused her to breathe the frosty air in great gasps, searing and damaging her lungs and generally weakening her constitution, lessening her chances for survival through the rest of the winter.

The race had already resulted in the probable death of her unborn fawn, for even if she survived she would likely abort the fetus.

Her pursuers, relentless in their purpose, being much lighter were able to run across the surface of the snow, drawing nearer with every bound in the unequal contest.

Suddenly, as if her plight was not desperate enough, another obstacle loomed in her path. The five strand barbed wire fence had been there for several years. Indeed she had easily leaped the fence many times in the past, but now, exhausted, winded, fighting the deep snow, terrified by the relentless demons at her heels, the man made obstacle proved to be her undoing.

She gathered herself and leaped, the snow dragging at her. It was close. She almost cleared the top strand, but it was not to be. One of her hind feet hit the fence and she fell, bleating in terror, into a three foot deep snowdrift. She fought to regain her footing, she was up but it was too late, again she bleated in terror as she went down under the pack.

The imagination may paint a picture of a pack of wolves efficiently cutting down an aged or sickly deer. But not so!

What I have described was the relentless pursuit and destruction of a healthy white tail doe by a pack of four dogs. The dogs were all well fed house pets belonging to residents of a nearby resort community.

When I was drawn to the scene by the excited yapping of the dogs the doe was still alive though she would soon have died from the wounds inflicted by the pack of dogs.

She was terribly mangled, her flanks and muzzle torn. Disemboweled, she still struggled weakly for the will to live is strong.

After driving the dogs away and ending the doe’s suffering I called the local game warden. The dogs were identified, the owners promising to confine their pets but the scene was repeated within a week. Eventually the dogs were destroyed, but I wonder…?

It has become all too common to read in the headlines or see on the six o’clock news that another child has been mauled by someone’s so called ‘pet’.

We have all been horrified by similar accounts so when is it going to be enough?

In Michigan a seven year old boy was playing in the yard with the neighbor’s dogs as he had for the previous year when they turned on him. Another neighbor looked out a window and was puzzled when she saw the three German shepherds playing in the snow with what appeared to be a large rag doll. She was horrified when she realized that what the dogs were playing with was her neighbor’s son, Peter! Seizing a rifle she chased the dogs from the body of the unconscious boy.

Peter was hospitalized and very nearly died. Where can the doctors possibly put fifteen hundred stitches on a seven year old child’s body? Peter survived, enduring repeated episodes of cosmetic surgery well into fifties now, relives the nightmare even to this day.

Some children are not even this fortunate.

Back in 1927 my father claimed squatter’s rights on the two large islands located on the Fox River just below Oswego Illinois. There he built a cabin and proved up on the land. He married, raised a family and lived on that land for the next thirty one years, moving to Wisconsin in 1958. To a great extent we lived off the land, trapping, hunting and fishing as well as farming that rich, river bottom soil. I continued to live there with my new bride and our first two children until 1960 and it was there during the winter of 1958 that I had an encounter which I will never forget.

One evening I parked the car at the landing and began walking down the river on the ice toward our cabin. Looking ahead I was puzzled for I could see the sled on which my wife pulled our infant son, Chuck Jr. abandoned on the ice.

Many evenings when the weather would permit my wife would meet me at our landing and we would walk home together but that evening was different.

As I approached the sled I began to get an uneasy feeling for the snow was packed down with many dog tracks.

My concern continued to grow for there were my wife’s tracks in the snow and by the distance between each track it was evident to me that she had been running.

She told me that she had sighted the pack of seven dogs on the river ice while they were probably a mile distant. At sight of the pack something, perhaps intuition, warned her.

Seizing our infant son she abandoned the sled and began running toward our cabin and the security it offered.

She told me that as she was approaching the cabin she glanced back once and saw that the pack was rushing straight at her, snarling viciously as they came.

With not a moment to spare she slammed the door shut behind her and the dogs so close that one of them actually slammed into the door.

That the dogs wanted blood I have no doubt due to the fact that the threshold was chewed and the door badly clawed in their efforts to get at my family. This did nothing to placate my anger and I knew what I was going to do.

The old Winchester 12 gauge pump had belonged to my father before me. How many ducks and geese, pheasants and rabbits had it put in the pot I could not even begin to imagine but now I was calling on it to perform another task. Wanting all the firepower I could get I removed the limiting plug from the shotgun enabling it to hold five shells instead of three, actually six if one was carried in the chamber.

Thus altered the shotgun was illegal even back then. It was claimed that the six shots gave the hunter unfair advantage. Right about then I was looking for all the advantage I could get, unfair or otherwise.

About noon that day I decided to take a walk down the river. I was returning when I saw them, seven dogs, running in my direction.

I did not want to destroy any dogs unless it was absolutely necessary so I decided on an experiment. I waved my hands and shouted. The dogs were about fifty yards away when they stopped and began milling about, watching me.

Then I turned my back on the pack and began running away. I figured that this was fair for the experiment, after all, most children would run.

As I ran the pack gave chase and a chill went up my spine. The only way that you can really appreciate the situation at that moment would to have been there. That pack of dogs was coming at me as if I were a prey animal, barking and baying as they came.

The pack was closer now but I stopped again and turned. They stopped, whining eagerly as they watched me.

Again I retreated and they came on. Now there was no doubt in my mind about what that pack would do if its prey was a child.

The next time that I turned the shotgun took on a deadly personality all of its own.

The pack was no more than fifteen or twenty yards away when the shotgun spoke four times. Three dogs were down, no longer a threat to man or beast. Before that day was done two more followed the first three.

The next day I borrowed a Redbone bitch that was in heat from a friend of mine who trained coon hounds. I chained her out near our cabin, finishing that pack when they were lured in by her scent.

I have never felt remorse for my act. I know that if that pack had caught my little family on the river ice that day they would have attacked them, horribly injuring them, or worse.

Those were not feral or wild dogs on that long ago day. Five of them wore collars and two had current dog tags, and that was back when few people tagged their dogs.

Thousands of dogs are still allowed to run at large, roaming where they will. Until dog owners are held responsible, children are going to be victimized, mauled, and young lives horribly ended for no other reason then ignorance and asinine indifference.

I found it to be very interesting that not one of the dogs in this account was a hunting dog. They were just your lovable, every day, “wouldn’t harm a mouse,” house pets.

Why is it that hunters usually prove to be the most responsible dog owners? A hunter, owning a well trained bird dog or any other hunting breed would never allow his dogs to roam at large, for there would be no better way to ruin a good dog! It is primarily the owners of the so called “vanity” or “macho” dogs, such as Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, and the other tenacious breeds that are causing the problems.

Legislation is on the books, now let it be enforced, demand that it be enforced! Responsibility should be demanded when so called “pets” go haywire.

Go back to the beginning of this article and imagine that the victim is not a deer but your own child and then tell me what you would do.

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