Dog Attack

Kathy and I have a dog that is very loving towards us but has a genetic loading to be very protective of his pack. A good part of my energy when with him is to be sure that he doesn't put his dominance trip on some unsuspecting stranger. We love him, but do not trust him. This helps me to understand but not condone how some dog owners do not step up to the plate on the responsibility dimension. But on to the case in point.

I have a bike route around my neighborhood that is kind of boring but is a good cardio workout. It goes up a steep hill, then back towards the East with another small hill, then down a steep hill to the South and loops West back to the first hill which is called Fury.

As I was going up the steep Fury grade, I noticed that there was a runner on the other side of the median with a pit bull unleashed. As with the many places where it is heads up for cars doing dangerous things, my attention ramped up. My second glance at the dog noted that he seemed to be tracking away from his master and toward my position. I was on the upper part of Fury, where my bike speed usually required getting out of the saddle to pump at about 8 mph. My next glance noted that he was closing the distance big time. No way to turn downhill, because he was already there. Saw that he was going to catch me on the hill on my bike, which would probably mean he could get my leg and possible knock me down. Not a good option for yours truely.

I turned on to a flat side street and accelerated enough to buy time to get out of the clip pedals and on my feet. I positioned the bike between me and the dog and held onto the frame of the bike to use it as a shield. I poked the bike at him and tried to not let him flank me. After doing this dance for a while, the owner showed up. He is yelling at his dog, with very little effect. After 30 or 40 seconds, he gets hold of the dog's collar and I noted how strong this animal looked. The owner said "Hey I'm very sorry man". He was a big guy and the dog was still struggling towards me. With an adrenaline powered shrill voice I said "You should have that thing on a leash", as I pedaled away from this exciting encounter.

My heart stopped pounding through my chest at about the time I made it back to home. I felt a strange satisfaction at having survived an attack by a breed of dog that is kind of close to my dog Red in its aggressiveness. I'm kind of wondering if constant vigilance may not be enough to prevent Red from doing to some stranger what had been done to me.

Mary McCormick July 7, 1921-May 31, 2011

Mary Elaine McCormick, of La Mesa, passed away peacefully in her home at the age of 89. She was born in San Diego to Ben and Gertrude Hoffner. Mary graduated from Hoover High School and Santa Barbara State College. She married her high school sweetheart, Joe McCormick, on December 24, 1942 in Yuma, Arizona. Mary was a wonderful wife, mother and a loyal, giving friend. Mary enjoyed the outdoors as she and her husband traveled extensively in their motorhome and enjoyed many, many trips across the United States together. She was an avid gardener and talented seamstress who sewed many of her four children’s clothes as they were growing up. Mary, along with her quilting friends, made and donated thousands of baby quilts, bibs, knitted caps and booties for several local charities, including Catholic Charities, Polinsky Children’s Center and Sharp Mary Birch Hospital.

Mary is survived by her husband of over 68 years, Joe McCormick, four children John McCormick (Kathy), Trudie Keough (Tom), Marty McCormick (Leslie), Eileen Bird (Dan), nine grandchildren and five great-grandchildren.

The above facts in my mother’s obituary provide the major markers in a full and productive life but perhaps need some detail to better understand who she was as a person. Her father, Ben Hoffner, was a self made man who came to California at the age of 10 from Wisconsin. He became a backcountry ranger in the Sierra, who traveled his territory by horseback with a pack string. After marrying a school teacher in Ely Nevada, he gave up the freedom of the hills for a more steady job at North Island. He taught himself Greg shorthand and rose to be the civil servant head of the supply department for the base. He was a co-founder of the North Island Credit Union though he never had a high school education. He loved being outdoors and gardening was what he did after work. Vacations involved camping in the mountains and Mary enjoyed this very much, his wife not so much.

Mary’s passion for books and education were heavily influenced by her mother. Her graduation from Santa Barbara State College with a major in home economics probably reflected that influence. Mind you, the demographics of college graduation for women were much different in 1943. As an only child, she had the confidence to believe in her own judgment over the herd or anyone in authority. An example of that was when she went to a priest at Blessed Sacrament to get permission to marry Joe, who had joined the Army Air Corps at the start of World War II. The priest wanted my father to receive instruction because he wasn’t a Catholic. Mary said this was not possible because Joe only had three days of leave from pilot training. It became a contest of wills. Mary then made the ultimatum. If permission was not granted, she would get married outside the church. The priest wisely relented. All the family chipped in their gas coupons and Ben loaned his car so they could get married in a small church in Yuma.

The Parks street home in La Mesa was originally owned by her father Ben. A chicken farm was located close to it in the 1940’s and he used a wheelbarrow to bring the fertilizer to the back yard. Mary used this great soil as a starting point for her composting efforts. The back yard became the canvas for her artistry with growing things. In addition to avocado, tangerine, fig and apple fruit trees, she specialized in vegetables like beets, pod peas, potatoes, lettuce and chard. Mixed with the edibles came flowers for every season, orchids, perennials and annuals which kept the yard in color year round. Her excellent cooking skills made good use of the bounty produced by her organic and local approach to food production.

Mary was not the kind of person who talked about her religion, but rather acted it out in her daily life. One example of this was the quilting group she organized from friends made at various sewing classes. Groups of up to twenty women would come to the Parks Avenue home to sew and tie the quilts. A pot luck lunch would be the only interruption in their efforts. In her words “When I have made about 80 quilt tops I invite some friends from quilting class to meet at my house and we put the backing and batting and tops together by sewing machine.” These quilts were initially given to the home for unwed mothers at Blessed Sacrament in the early 90’s. As the production quantity increased, they were also given to the Polinsky Children’s Center, Sharp Memorial Hospital and Catholic Charities. This year the group got together in April and produced 400 quilts. These fine women showed by their good works the true meaning of charity and Christianity.

My mother was kind to others without being meddlesome. Even in the final stages of lung cancer, she had kind words for her caregivers. She was not a whiner and never complained about the gradual loss of freedom the disease made her fate. She refused palliative medication and died as she lived, on her own terms.

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