Dog Attack Near Death Experience

Part 1: Einstein’s paper on special relativity, “On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies,” was published in 1905, and it included the theory that time IS NOT a constant flowing stream but a kind of web that can expand and contract relative to the moment. In theory, we all move in our own time.

But how do these complex ideas relate to a dog attack and a near-death experience?

In my case, I was attacked by a vicious dog and experienced what is generally known as a near-death experience. During the experience, I felt as if time slowed down and I was able to see the entire event from a completely different perspective, and in slow motion. Time became greatly expanded.

The concepts of special relativity, which state that time and space are relative to the observer’s frame of reference rather than being fixed, are consistent with this experience. According to Einstein’s theory, depending on the relative speeds of the observer and the item being watched, time may appear to slow down or speed up. I have attempted to comprehend the significant influence that Einstein’s theories continue to have on our comprehension of the cosmos and the nature of reality itself by examining the relationship between this personal experience of mine and the work on special relativity, which I continue to strive to understand.

Those who have either experienced a life-threatening situation or have been close to death often report having had a near-death experience. These encounters frequently include sensations of separation from the body, a feeling of transcendence or tranquility, and the perception of dazzling lights or tunnels. Some people claim to have seen God or experienced a “life flashing in front of them” experience.

The majority of reported near-death experiences occur in hospital patients or people who are having medical difficulties. The study of near-death experiences that happen to healthy people has essentially fallen by the wayside; near-death experience research has shifted from the study of enhanced experiences in daily life situations to more speculative territory: the afterlife.

The moment I broke into my near-death experience, my senses were acutely heightened, and I was instantly aware of what was happening. The world around me seemed to slow down, as if time itself had come to a standstill. And as the ferocious dog charged towards me, my brain kicked into overdrive, frantically working to keep me alive. As humans, we are capable of remarkable displays of strength when our very survival is on the line. But what about our ability to perceive the world around us in moments of intense danger?

Neuroscience has a pretty good explanation for what happened in my head during those several seconds as the dog came at me. In those heart-stopping moments, it was not just fear that consumed me, but an intense and primal response coursing through my very being. My body was reacting to the danger in a way that was beyond my control, as if a switch had been flipped in my brain, activating a cascade of events.

This neuroscience behind this phenomenon is both fascinating and mind-blowing. That wasn’t just a figment of my mind; rather, it was an intense and aberrant activity occurring at the center of my brain. The strength of my emotional response was made clear by the way my limbic system and temporal lobes were illuminating like a Christmas tree.

The director of this wild symphony of fear was the amygdala, that old and primitive region of my brain. Adrenaline, a powerful chemical that can enable remarkable feats of perception beyond what we believe is possible, was being released, causing a surge to run through my veins and readying me for war or flight. My brain was working nonstop, as if my own survival depended on this strong reaction. In those fleeting seconds, I was not just a mere mortal, but a creature of instinct, driven by the primal forces that have kept our species alive for millennia. It was a stark reminder of the power of the human brain, and the mysteries that still lie hidden within its depths.

My own experience has been of a calm awareness in the face of great danger, as if my senses were razor-sharp. My mind appeared to work at rapid speed, taking in every detail of my surroundings with astonishing clarity as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. It was as if I had been granted a superhuman ability to perceive the world in a way that mere mortals could only dream of. In the face of life-threatening danger, adrenaline can transform us into beings of incredible perception and unshakeable focus. It is a force to be reckoned with, a power that can make the impossible possible and the extraordinary an everyday reality.

(Trigger Warning) Part 2: We arrived to inspect the trees that the owner wished to prune around a dilapidated house, a sprawling forested estate near El Yunque, in Puerto Rico, but before we even set foot on the ground from the car, we were greeted by the bone-chilling sound of a dog’s deep bark—a sound that echoed through the trees, sending shivers down our spines; a bark that said, “Strangers be very, very aware”.

From my vantage point on the house balcony, I could see a dog chained up below, on a roofed cement pad, worn down by the constant dragging of the chain over it. The sound of the chain on the concrete was rough and jarring. The dog fixed its eyes on me with a fierce intensity that chilled me, even as I felt so much empathy for it. As a dog lover, I correctly guessed what kind of dog it was, though I had never actually seen one in real life. Historically, the Argentinian Dogo was bred for a singular purpose: to hunt and destroy wild boar and pumas. It has thick rippling muscles, an imposing, powerful build, a heavy chest, a white coat that gives a ghostly appearance, a fierce face, and low-hanging jowls.

As my companion and the owner were in conversation on the other side of the house on another balcony, I decided to head downstairs to look at the forest garden and get a sense of the volume of pruning that would be needed. I walked around a grassy knoll, marveling at the huge, sprawling blue mahoe trees creating dappled shade everywhere. I decided to sit down, but as I turned to sit on a grassy bank, I saw the impossible—the Dogo had broken off its chain and was charging towards me with a terrifying fury. It was about 50 feet away from me.

All around me blurred as the beast emerged from the shadows. It was as though time and space itself had been stretched to the breaking point and had slowed to a crawl in order to prolong the anguish of the approaching calamity. Its eyes bore into my soul with a primordial rage; I felt naked and helpless.

Then I experienced the shift in time. I felt calm and exceptionally alert. My eyesight became extremely sharp and intense. I saw the broken end of the heavy metal chain floating in the air behind the dog’s collar, the dog’s heavy jowls moving from side to side as he ran towards me, his saliva splatting away from his mouth in sharp detail as it caught the light, and my eyes widening as I saw the immensity of his ivory teeth, pink lips bared, ready for attack. Not only could I see more clearly than normal, but I also had time to ponder what I saw. My mind, it seemed, was “making” more time as needed so that the information flowing in could be processed into intelligence that knew how to “act” or “take action.”

In about 2 seconds, all the while noting my physical situation, location, and body’s position very clearly, I first thanked the impulse that had made me wear jeans that day as opposed to the flimsy sarong I had originally planned to wear. I “thought” about every possible injury at that very instant as the dog drew nearer to me: shredded flesh, exposed bone, eye damage, a tattered ear. Then came the after effects: ripped skin that was trying to mend, ripped skin hidden by bandages, and healing skin peeling off and sticking to bandages. Then, my mind covered in graphic detail any suffering that might potentially be experienced as a result of these tears and wounds, whether it be in the body, the stomach, or the mind, during the attack, during first aid, or in the months that would follow.

I knew I needed to scream for help in this terrifying situation, and I needed to produce a loud and powerful sound to alert the guys. In order to produce a louder sound, I could feel my larynx moving up and forward in my throat. This increased the amount of air that could pass through my vocal chords. My vocal chords themselves tightened and vibrated quickly, raising the pitch of the scream by raising the frequency of the sound waves. Finally, the muscles around my larynx tightened, forcing more air into my vocal chords and out of my lungs, enhancing the sound. I could literally “see” the entire procedure in progress.

Simultaneously as my physical body was preparing itself for protection, my intellect was at work. What the hell should I call out, and in what tone of voice? It had to be to the point. The world ‘HELP’ was scrubbed off an internal screen, because it was obvious that only I could help myself in this situation. The word ‘DOG’ was selected, as well as the tone in which it was to be delivered, and my larynx went into production for the lubricants necessary to shout loudly: ‘DOG’.

Terrifying aloneness was a physical location.

Then very clearly, I heard, saw, and felt, two statements, and one distinct instruction: “It doesn’t have claws, it can’t hold onto you, keep the mouth open”.

The relationships between the events and their most likely outcomes were assessed objectively and plainly. There was no ambiguity. Time felt dilated, stretching out endlessly like a vast desert horizon.

I reacted with lightning speed in accordance with a precise assessment of the situation, and I exhibited no evidence of the paralyzing FRIGHT/FREEZE that my brain was telling me could happen, but that it would undoubtedly result in my death if I ‘chose’ that option. Instead, I had a sense of quiet serenity, profound acceptance of the circumstance I was in, mental quickness, moving-center agility, a sense of certainty, and ultimately, fearlessness.

I lunged at the dog’s mouth as he made contact with me, with both hands, palms up, to “keep the mouth open” as directed. Again, and again, I stuffed my outstretched fingers into his mouth, pushing up to stop his upper jaw from clamping down. Again and again, he came at me, breaking through the skin on my right ankle. Again and again, I had my entire hands inside the beast’s mouth, as he tried to clamp down on my calf. His lower jaw pushing its way up to meet the upper jaw, just my hands standing in the way of total carnage of flesh. Much later, I learned that the ridges on the upper inside of a dog’s mouth are called “rugae.” Rugae are natural folds or wrinkles in the tissue that line the roof of the dog’s mouth. These ridges are made up of tough, flexible tissue, and I felt them in my fingers, strong and hard as I fought for my life. I was aware of every lunge the dog made at me and I did not try to kick it. My skinny legs were no match for its jaws and muscular, thick breast. I felt like a small child and imagined running away, but my brain spoke to me and rationalized that if I ran, I would indeed be torn up.

After what seemed like enough time for the guys to have heard my call and reacted, the dog’s weight forced me to the ground. Now on my back, I imagined that I was going to have my face torn apart. Still, I kept my hands alert and stiff as I shoved them into his mouth, which was so gigantic that it seemed I was only in a quarter of it with my tiny hands.

His left incisor was now jabbed in my right thigh, just below my groin, my hands pushing up on his upper jaw with all my might. My mind raced to name the femoral artery, the major artery in the human thigh, which, if cut, can lead to severe bleeding, shock, organ failure, and death. I imagined that it was punctured and accepted that this was how I might die. I pushed up with all the strength I had to keep the mouth open, my wrists working beyond their capacity. If the dog had chomped down fully, he would have ripped my entire thigh out.

The dog bared its teeth at the owner, who had just shouted at it. As the man approached, the dog lunged at him with a fierce determination, sinking his teeth into the man’s wrist with a sickening crunch. But the danger wasn’t over yet. The dog turned towards me with a menacing growl, ready to attack once again. As it charged towards me, the owner jumped down, and tackled the animal with both arms tightly wrapped around its neck. The two of them rolled and tumbled down the sloping ground, making ugly sounds from their violent struggle. The man cried out in anger and pain as the dog’s teeth sank deeper into his flesh, drawing blood and leaving deep wounds in his arms and hands. I leapt up and flew to safety, where my companion dragged me away from danger and into a safe zone.

As I exited that time-space and moved away to a bathroom to examine my wounds, I couldn’t help but wonder at the incredible power of the human will to survive, even in the face of overwhelming danger.

Now back in “ordinary” time, I felt squeamish, and I turned my hands around in front of me, expecting to see some blood, shredded skin, some evidence that my hands had been inside that beast’s mouth; I could still feel the sensation of the rugae on the tips of my fingers, where they had pressed so hard. Incredibly, my hands were completely unscathed, and I stood there in dazed disbelief, looking at them, but my legs had suffered deep tears, and a fatty substance was oozing out of all the punctures in the skin around my ankle, like toothpaste.

Later, as my body healed, there were hard, interior “balls” inside my muscles where the mandible of the dog had pressed against me as I pulled up with all my strength to keep his upper jaw open, to stop him from clamping down. The stitches at the hospital as the adrenalin faded were more painful and hard to stomach than the attack itself, and I left the emergency room feeling the shock of the event start to affect me traumatically.

What does this all mean, though? Can we really rely on our subjective experiences to provide us with insight into the nature of the universe, and the workings of time and consciousness? It is important to keep in mind that subjective experiences can be influenced by a wide range of factors, from individual psychology to the cultural and social contexts in which they occur. In the end, it is important for me to approach these phenomena with a healthy dose of skepticism and critical inquiry, understanding that my understanding of the universe is always constrained by my own unique perspectives and biases.

The study of spontaneous, healthy persons’ near-death experiences has received relatively little attention, while being a crucial topic of study, and as I mentioned earlier, the majority of research has concentrated on medically induced or hospital-based encounters; people on the edge based on serious health conditions.

The connection between special relativity and my near-death experience, in my opinion, emphasizes the ambiguous nature of time and the potential influence of one’s perspective on one’s sense of reality. Near-death experiences can help shed light on our understanding of consciousness and the nature of time and reality.

Thanks for coming on this journey with me. This attack happened in 2017, and writing about it has helped me understand more clearly the near-death time-space experience, which fascinates me. Stay tuned as I take you on more journeys into weird spaces.

All AI images by 3t Vakil, 2023