The time I fought off a man and his dogs in the forest

And figured out what kind of person I am

During one of the partial Covid lockdowns in Amsterdam, when you could still go outside but there were rules regarding how far apart you needed to be from another human, (anderhalvemetersamenleving), and how many humans were allowed to interact with each other (no more than three outside of your immediate family) my husband, kid, and I took our elderly Labrador for a walk in the Amsterdamse Bos, which is a forest on the outskirts of Amsterdam.

We’d just finished eating the lunches we’d packed and my husband hiked up a rare Dutch hill to go find a trashcan while my kid and our dog waited for him under the canopy of the pine trees. Brian, our elderly Labrador, rested in a soft bed of pine needles while we waited. His hips were failing at this point. He could still walk but we didn’t let him off leash because the temptation to run and jump in the canals was too great, and there were canals everywhere, of course, but Brian’s legs were too weak to get out of the canals now.

That’s when the two unleashed Rhodesian Ridgebacks appeared at the top of the hill, and ran straight for us.

The dogs were sleek and fast and surrounded us immediately. I noted they both still had their balls as one of them attempted to mount Brian, whose hips gave out immediately. Brian tried to fight them off, but his legs collapsed under him and now I was tangled in his leash while the Ridgebacks surrounded us, Brian barking and yelping, me screaming for the owner, who was nowhere in sight. I was aware of my teenager, who was also caught in the fray, trying to rescue our dog, and me. We kicked and shouted at the Ridgebacks, who did not back off, Brian’s barks and yelps alternating from ferocious to heartbreaking. Teeth gnashed, slobber flew — a growling, snarling melee surrounding me and my kid. Finally a man appeared at the top of the hill, but made no move to collect the dogs. “Are these your dogs?” I yelled, still fighting them off. They were, but he still made no move to help. He called to them, and they ignored him. “Get your fucking dogs!” I screamed, still kicking wildly at the Ridgebacks, who were not backing off. The man still made no attempt to collect his dogs other than standing at the top of the hill, calling to them. “What’s wrong with you?” I screamed at him, still fighting off the dogs, protecting my dog and my kid. “Get them on a leash,” I screamed at him.

It would turn out, he didn’t have a leash for them. He came close enough to grab one by the collar, and that left only one dog for me to fight, all the while I continued to scream at this man, who was doing the bare minimum. When he finally had both of his dogs by the collars, I let him have it. “What are you doing letting these aggressive dogs run free, they are dangerous,” I yelled at him, to which he replied in crisp, Dutch-accented English, “My dogs are not aggressive.”

“What are you talking about, they just attacked us,” I yelled.

“This is not attacking,” he said. “This is normal behavior.”

I screamed at him some more, to which he replied, “Bitch.” Then he took a step towards me. Another act of aggression.

This is when I lost all senses. I puffed myself up, lowered my head, and charged this man and his ferocious dogs like a bull. The man and his dogs all turned and ran up the hill, and as they ran away, I heard myself yell “I’ll shove your dick up your ass,” as I chased them up the hill. That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard my kid say, “Mom!” I stopped dead in my tracks. The man and his dogs had disappeared over the hill, and I stood there, frozen, my heart beating so hard I felt it everywhere, blood pounding, a deafening drum in my ears. “Mom, are you okay?” My kid asked, and I turned to my kid, stunned, and said, “I don’t know,” and I burst into tears.

Just then James came running over the hill towards us. He’d heard the commotion through the woods and had run back and passed the man and his dogs on the way and asked him what was going on and the man told him he’d gotten into an argument with someone and my husband said, yes, that’s my wife and the man said “Your wife needs to get under control,” and my husband, god love him, said “It seems you need to get your dogs under control.” I still think about this, years later. How my husband immediately assessed the situation for what it was, and took my side.

Later that night my husband was cooking dinner and I saw him standing alone in the kitchen, waving the spatula around, talking to the spaghetti. “I’m going to shove your own dick up your own ass,” he said to the noodles.

It took me a long time to recover from this incident. Not just because it was absolutely terrifying — I fought off two ferocious dogs to protect my own dog, my kid, and myself, but also because I was terrified of my own reaction. I’d charged a man and two fanged animals. I’d yelled something violent and obscene in front of my kid.

What kind of person was I?

I grappled with this question for some time. What kind of person was I? What would possess me, a middle aged, out of shape woman, to physically fight a man and two wild animals? And where on earth did I get shove your dick up your ass? What the hell was that? I was so ashamed of having said this, (because I’d said it in front of my kid), that when I retold it to a friend I changed “dick” to “beard” as if that would somehow make it better.

It wasn’t snowing in the forest when the incident happened, but I like this photo. I took it in Finland, a land where death lurks around every corner, but that’s a story for another time.

Prior to the incident in the woods, James and I had been spending the Covid lockdowns binging several shows about Vikings. I’d been particularly taken with a character in The Last Kingdom named Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Uhtred was a lover and a fighter, with a blade of steel and a dagger named Serpent Breath and Wasp Sting, respectively, and smoldering, sensitive eyes. We’d also watched all six seasons of Vikings and I’d grown very fond of Ragnar Lothbrok. We’d completely immersed ourselves in this world — so much so that I’d lost all sense of reality, and one night I turned to James and said, “Wow, Vikings really treated women with respect,” and he said, “Uh…” But my favorite character was Lagertha, the shield maiden.

Lagertha did not fuck around.

She was a fierce warrior, wife and mother. Lagertha’s arrows would have pierced the heart of that man in the woods before the word “bitch” escaped his smug mouth. Lagertha would have wielded her sword and chopped the head off the Ridgeback mounting my dog and thrust the bloodied blade through the heart of the other beast, then worn their balls and teeth around her neck. Lagertha would not have second guessed herself for defending those she loved who were under attack. She would not have spent hours intellectualizing the aftermath, wondering if spouting obscenities whilst in battle was inappropriate. She wouldn’t have diminished her achievements over coffee. Lagertha fought mercilessly with all she had. Lagertha knew who she was. She was badass.

I don’t think any man would have spent the hours I spent replaying the incident and feeling bad about how they’d fought, or what they’d said during battle. I don’t think men would worry about judgment from other people because men would not be judged harshly, unless they had failed — they would be expected to defend the ones they loved with any means necessary, and to win. They’d be celebrated for it. What a bunch of bologna. Gendered responsibilities and affiliated judgments are hogwash and don’t serve anyone.

I’m pretty sure it was Lagertha I channeled that day in the forest when I fought that man and his dogs to protect my family.

That’s the kind of person I am.