The Bite Ritual

I myself don’t believe in folk healers or alternative treatments with all sorts of rays and hydroplasmas. But there was one incident from my childhood that I still don’t know how to feel about.

It happened in the summer in the village when I was about 6 years old. A dog attacked me on the street. It broke its chain, ran out of its yard, and there I was, walking along the road. I stretched out my hand to pet it, and it lunged at me and bit me in the chest. It was a big dog with coarse yellow fur. They took me to the hospital and gave me a rabies shot. After that, I stopped speaking. My mom later told me that I tried to talk but stuttered so badly I couldn’t pronounce a single word properly. The family thought it was from the shock and would pass on its own, but it didn’t.

A couple of days later, my great-grandmother Sonya — who had never been suspected of any kind of sorcery or folk healing — went to the neighbors who owned the dog and asked for a clump of its fur. “Take the whole hide if you want,” they said and gave her a tuft.

My great-grandma told me to stand on the threshold of the house. She lit the clump of dog fur right at my feet. It smoked and stank horribly. She was quietly muttering something. I don’t remember how long I stood there — it felt like forever — until she finally allowed me to step off the threshold. The moment I lifted my foot, I burst into heavy tears. It was the first time I had cried since the bite.

I don’t stutter anymore. I love dogs endlessly. And a tiny scar on my chest remains to this day.