What to Do When Your Neighbor's Dog Bites Your Dog in Portugal...

As soon as Kiitos and I rounded the corner from our little alley out onto the main road that runs through our little village, there they were – Senhor Rui and his large, scary-looking Portuguese cattle dog, Spike.

When he saw us, Senhor Rui hastily reached down and put the rope he’d been carrying in his hand around Spike’s neck.

Weighing up to 90 pounds, with a short, coarse grey-brown coat, cattle dogs like Spike are bred in Portugal to watch over herds of livestock. They are courageous enough to stand up even to fierce predators like wolves, as well as the (mostly) Golden Retriever around the corner.

Every time we walk past Senhor Rui’s backyard – which is nearly every day – Spike races over to the low wall that divides his yard from the main road, hurls himself up against it and barks like a deranged lunatic at Kiitos.

Even as a dog lover, I find this a little unnerving.

Kiitos, however, seems pretty chill about Spike’s frenzied yowls. Sometimes, he lifts a leg on the street side of Spike’s wall by way of a return greeting; sometimes he doesn’t.

While I was away on holiday last summer, a friend of mine stayed at my house with Kiitos. She’s a passionate dog-person and someone I’ve hiked many miles with, so I know how reliable and responsible she is. One morning, however, I got a message from her that began with the ominous words…

My choice of walks this morning was unfortunate…

She went on to describe a dog that ‘went after Kiitos’ while they were walking along a dirt farming road that runs through the woods above the village. She yelled at the dog but it lunged at Kiitos’ rear leg, teeth bared, before a man appeared with a rope and got control of the dog.

At 85 lbs, Kiitos is not small. But as a (mostly) Golden Retriever, he’s also not aggressive. My friend brought him back to the house and examined him carefully before texting me to tell me of the incident. There wasn’t much blood, she said. It looked to be mainly a puncture wound.

After calming Kiitos and cleaning him up, she bundled him into her car and drove him to a vet in a nearby town. 80 euros later, Kiitos had a shaved and disinfected back leg, along with precautionary antibiotics. When I arrived back home the following day, he was also sporting the much despised collar of shame so he wouldn’t be able to fuss with his leg wound.

Over the coming days, Kiitos healed up quickly while I pondered the best way to deal with the incident.

Although my friend said she couldn’t be sure whether or not it was Senhor Rui’s dog, she did identify the attacking dog as a Portuguese cattle dog. And there is only one Portuguese cattle dog in the village.

So when I encountered Senhor Rui walking with Spike, I broached the uncomfortable situation as tactfully and diplomatically as I could.

“Did your dog BITE my dog last July?!”

“Was that your dog?” he said, raising his dark eyebrows in surprise. “My son told me when he was out walking that Spike had an argument with another dog.”

“An argument?!” I asked. “Is that what you call it?”

Senhor Rui – who really can be very nice – told me he’d rescued Spike from a neighbor who neglected him when he was a just a puppy. He told me Spike is really sweet and shy around people. Not so good with other dogs, perhaps, but very nice with people.

Hearing that Senhor Rui had rescued him melted my heart a bit. Senhor Rui has his moments. Despite that, I still felt the need to correct him.

“It was more than ‘an argument,’” I said. “Your dog attacked mine.”

“What happened?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned. I relayed what my friend had told me of the encounter. I told him about the puncture wound and the emergency visit to the vet.

“That ‘argument’ cost me 80 euros!” I said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course, I will pay you.”

He turned to go into his house.

As I stood there, I thought about Senhor Rui’s garden. It contains Spike, but also something else.

“Wait a moment,” I said, calling him back. “I have an idea.”

He paused and turned to look at me, dark eyebrows once again raised.

“Instead of paying me cash, what about if you will let me pick as many figs from your trees as I want next September?”

Senhor Rui has the biggest and best fig trees in the village. I know there’s no way he can eat or use them all himself.

He looked at me to see if perhaps I was making a joke. Then, he smiled.

“Okay,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.

I smiled back at him, relieved to have no bad feelings between us. The village is too small for that.

As Kiitos and I walked away, my head filled with thoughts of what I will be baking at the end of next summer with my new unlimited supply of figs – cookies, cake, and jam just for starters.

Who knows, perhaps I’ll even share some of them with Senhor Rui.

But not Spike.

RECIPES:

Here’s what I made with last September’s figs: Italian Fig Cookies (Cucidati) and also Fig Jam, the sweetness of which pairs well when served with Aged Cheddar, Goat Cheese, Blue Cheese, Brie, aged Gouda, and Gruyere.

Original art by Kristin Fellows