Knowing he had rabies, I put on my gloves before going inside. When I came out of my room, he was standing on the couch, peeing. The pee ran down into the cracks of the couch, imparting a pungent, foul odor. Trying to stay calm, I put his favorite canned food in the corner. It seemed like he knew there was medicine in his food because after sniffing it, he turned and trotted off. My patience ran out and I rushed over to grab him. He was sensitive and very agile. He turned his head so quickly to bite at my wrist. Reacting instinctively, I dodged to the side.
He darted under the bedroom bed, growling at me. I grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the dog, causing him to flee to the windowsill and jump over the railing. Living on the ground floor, I knew the fall wouldn't be lethal. With urgency, I swung open the door and dashed outside to pursue the dog. Perhaps upon landing, he had hurt itself; he limped away from me, seeking refuge under a nearby car. From there, he continued to snarl at me, clearly agitated and defensive.