Bit Twice in 18 Months—Despite Befriending Dogs All Year!
From what I understand, most cyclists and runners have never been bit by a dog. Indeed, I have probably been chased by over 100 dogs in my lifetime—the majority across Kentucky during the Trans Am Bike Race—and not once had been bit for the first 47 years of my life.
Recently, however, I seem to be playing some unwitting game of statistical improbability, getting chomped on twice in the span of 1.5 years. And the irony? I’d spent the past year volunteering to walk rescue dogs several times per month.
Round One: A Bite at Mile 19
It was supposed to be a victory lap—the final very long run in Colorado before the Marine Corps Marathon, capping off months of vigorous training. I was deep into my 20-mile run, just one mile from home, when I heard it.
Rapid movement. A dog charging from behind.
I had run this route numerous times during the last two decades, keeping to the left side of the dirt road against traffic. As I heard the dog approaching, I instinctively slowed a bit and shouted “Hey!”—a technique that usually gets overly enthusiastic dogs to pause.
Not this one.
The dog lunged and bit my right ankle.
Thrown into a mix of shock and quick thinking, I immediately pulled out my phone and snapped photos for later identification. My biggest concern was that the dog did not have rabies, and I wasn’t leaving until I had some answers. After yelling like a madman long enough, a kind-hearted neighbor emerged, but he couldn’t immediately confirm the dog’s owner. He promised to ask around.
Jogging home slowly, I washed the wound for 15 minutes, then called my health insurance provider, who advised me to head to urgent care. A doctor confirmed no stitches needed, and in a happy coincidence, I had gotten a 10-year tetanus booster only two weeks before. Talk about timing.
The urgent care center did have me fill out a form to report the incident to Animal Control. The next day, the neighbor called back with good news—he’d found the owner, who had been out of town when the incident happened. The owner said the dog was fully vaccinated. I passed on the information to Animal Control, who then visited the owner and put the dog in quarantine for a week just to confirm no signs of rabies. I had no hard feelings and declined to press charges, despite the $236 medical bill (inexpensive considering that we are talking about the U.S. health care system here), particularly since the owner had been forthcoming with information.
The bite did need a whole two months to fully heal and not be itchy, but it had zero impact on my marathon performance. Over a year later, there’s no scar, but what stuck with me most was the fact that I had been lucky—no rabies shots needed, dodging both the inconvenience and the steep price tag.
Round Two: A Bite in Spain—The Irony Hits
Fast forward to last night, during an easy bike ride on a familiar route. Cruising on my Litespeed Archon C2, I was enjoying my last ride in Spain before heading to the States for a little bit—until danger struck again.
Near the Church of Santa María de Xeve in the hills northeast of Pontevedra, I suddenly found myself ambushed by three small, barking dogs. As I customarily do in such a situation, I yelled “HEY!” But it was a half-hearted shout, and before I had time to yell again or try to sprint away uphill, one of the dogs had bitten me.
This time I had a little more protection—I was wearing long cycling tights, which didn’t tear but didn’t fully prevent skin abrasion either. Or oozing blood.
Here’s where it got frustrating: with three dogs in the mix, I had no idea which one actually bit me. Furthermore, going back to knock on doors wasn’t an option, as the dogs weren’t backing off. Unlike last time, finding the owner wasn’t happening.
And yet, the irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d spent the entire past year volunteering alongside Andrea to walk rescue dogs, dedicating time and care to their well-being. I had been a friend of dogs. And yet—here I was again, with another bite.
Spain has dog vaccination laws similar to the U.S., and after weighing my options, I took the 1 in 100,000 chance that the dog wasn’t carrying rabies. No rabies shots this time either.
Andrea, an emergency room doctor, examined the wound when I got home, and wasn’t too worried. She called it superficial, and we merely cleaned the injury thoroughly and applied a topical solution containing iodine to prevent infection.
Unfortunately, this marked my final ride in Spain before heading to the States. Less than 30 hours later, I was in Colorado, then off to California for my dad’s birthday.
Now, Considering Pre-Exposure Shots
After two bites in just over a year, getting pre-exposure rabies shots is starting to feel less like an overreaction and more like a practical precaution. While the odds of encountering a rabid dog remain incredibly low, the financial and logistical burden of post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) is what makes me reconsider.
The pre-exposure rabies vaccine consists of just two doses given seven days apart and could cost $800–$1,300 total. Though not cheap, it’s a one-time expense and eliminates the need for human rabies immune globulin (HRIG) in case of a future exposure.
By contrast, post-exposure treatment is significantly more involved. It requires four doses of the rabies vaccine—administered on days 0, 3, 7, and 14—plus a dose of HRIG on the first day if the person has never been vaccinated before. The total cost could range from $3,000 to $10,000 (I would assume, in this day and age, closer to the latter).
So why is PEP so expensive? It comes down to three main factors:
- HRIG is specialized and limited. Unlike the rabies vaccine itself, HRIG is derived from a limited supply of human donors and involves complex processing to ensure it remains effective. Since HRIG provides immediate passive immunity before the vaccine starts working, it’s a crucial (but costly) component of the treatment.
- Hospital and clinic fees. Rabies treatment often involves urgent care or emergency room visits, which can drive up costs significantly. Administrative fees, consultation charges, and other medical expenses add to the total.
- Vaccine production and distribution. Rabies vaccines require stringent cold chain logistics and careful production due to the nature of the virus. Compared to more routine vaccines, rabies vaccines aren’t administered as widely, meaning fewer manufacturers produce them—contributing to higher costs.
Given these factors, pre-exposure vaccination is starting to look like a worthwhile investment. I may not bike outside as often these days, but I still run regularly—usually everyday. The idea of avoiding costly, inconvenient, multi-week rabies treatment if I get bitten again is enough to make me seriously consider the preventative approach.
Because while the saying goes “third time’s the charm,” that’s one experiment I’d rather not conduct.