“He looked at me with sharp eyes, roared, and barked with bared teeth. He took two steps back, then charged towards me, standing about two meters away. He pounced, aiming at my neck with a calculated athletic jump. I was shocked and horrified at the same time.”

I encounter a wide variety of animals in my day-to-day practice at Mufasa Veterinary Clinic in Nairobi, Kenya. The species range from canines, felines, bovines, equines, avian, lagomorphs, reptiles, Pisces, and more.

One Friday mid-afternoon, the clinic phone rang. A masculine voice answered from the other end. The voice was deep but terrified, clearly in need of urgent intervention.

“What seems to be the problem, Sir?” I asked with concern as I prepared for an emergency house visit. “My name is Genzi, the caretaker from Karen. Bill, our baby, is recumbent, with white foam frothing from his mouth and labored breathing. I don’t know what he ate. Please hurry,” Genzi urged, confirming my fears. I hurriedly assembled emergency medication and equipment and dashed out of the clinic.

Bill is a three-year-old male Belgian Malinois, trained and imported from Israel at six months old. I received Bill at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport when he arrived in Kenya, and I have been responsible for his health ever since. Over the years, we’ve developed a good friendship.

When I arrived, Bill was weak, lying flat on the ground with a sub-normal body temperature—36.3°C to be precise. His breathing was predominantly abdominal, with excessive salivation and hyperemic mucous membranes—a pathognomonic sign of poisoning.

Genzi explained that he had taken Bill for a walk earlier, along with two other dogs, Rex and Shad. As usual, he let them off-leash to run around, sniff things, and mark territory along the bushes by the roadside in the leafy, expansive Karen area of Nairobi. When it was time to gather them and return home, Bill was nowhere in sight. He was eventually spotted far from the roadside, chewing on something. When Genzi tried to see what it was, Bill hurriedly swallowed it in protest. They walked home anyway.

Moments after arriving home, Genzi realized Bill was in a comatose state, leading to his frantic phone call.

Upon my arrival, I administered first aid to address the clinical signs. Then, I rushed to the site where Bill was spotted with something in his mouth. It became apparent that someone had maliciously set out to poison stray dogs and other animals that threatened to invade a nearby poultry farm. I found pieces of bones and an acaricide container with organophosphate as the active ingredient—crucial information.

Fortunately, I had the antidote for organophosphate poisoning. I administered the appropriate dosage of atropine, and within about ten minutes, Bill started breathing normally and returned to his usual self. But there was a problem—he didn’t recognize me. What followed was completely unexpected.

Belgian Malinois dogs are often trained to be highly aggressive towards strangers within their territory, and Bill had received top-notch training. Suddenly, I was now a stranger to him, and he was ready to attack.

He looked at me with sharp eyes, roared, and barked with bared teeth. He took two steps back, then charged towards me, standing about two meters away. He pounced, aiming at my neck with a calculated athletic jump. I was shocked and horrified. “We had been good buddies for two and a half years; I had just saved him from a life-threatening condition, and now he’s out to kill me?” I thought, incredulous.

I mustered all my strength and pushed him off. I escaped unscathed, but only just. Bill wasn’t done; he was determined to finish what he started. Genzi yelled and scolded him to stop, and Bill ran towards him. Bill evaded Genzi’s grasp and pounced again, this time with even more force and aggression.

I grabbed a leash from the ground, held it apart with both hands, and used it to protect my neck and face. I pushed him back again and nearly fell but managed to regain my stance. The caretaker momentarily grabbed Bill’s left hind limb but then slipped off. I felt adrenaline surge through my bloodstream, my head swelled, and my eyes widened.

But Bill wasn’t done. He jumped at me a third time. This time, I wasn’t so lucky. I felt warm fluid splashing on my face, and when I looked, I saw blood gushing from my right hand. Bill lost his balance and fell to the ground. Genzi managed to grab him by the neck and quickly fastened a chain, restraining him as he continued to breathe fire, desperate to attack.

Finally, Genzi secured him and whisked him to his kennel, locking him up.

My hand felt numb, and the pain set in so quickly that I couldn’t lift it. My upper hand was badly mauled, and blood flowed freely—the hunter had become the hunted. First aid was necessary, and Genzi assisted under my guidance using the medication in my vet’s drug kit.

Next, I rushed to a healthcare facility to treat the wound and receive Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) for rabies. I received a total of five PEP injections on days 0, 3, 7, 14, and 28 from the day of the bite. Needless to say, Bill left me with a lifetime scar that will always remind me of that fateful Friday.