- Carol Stewart, 63, was heading home on her mobility scooter when two dogs stood in her path.
- Waving her hands in front of the canines she tried to shoo them away and then the unthinkable happened.
- Carol was mauled to the ground by a pit bull and in the blink of an eye her arm and leg was shredded.
Here Carol tells her story in her own words.
‘Oh Carol, you’re early,’ I muttered, rolling my eyes at myself.
I’d just arrived at my great-grandson’s school, but when I pulled up, the yard was still empty. School wouldn’t be out for another hour.
It was a sunny winter’s afternoon in June this year and I always picked up my boy on my mobility scooter.
He loved riding it home with me.
Four years earlier, I’d been diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, which meant my sight had narrowed to tunnel vision.
I had to give up driving, so the scooter had given me precious independence.
After my husband Noel suddenly passed away nearly two years earlier, aged 72, from an abdominal aneurysm, the scooter was my lifeline.
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Turning it around, I now headed back home. But halfway there, I spotted two dogs on the path ahead. One was a white mixed breed, the other a rusty brown pit bull.
‘Shoo! Get away!’ I shouted firmly, waving one hand in the air.
The white dog froze, then backed off. But in the blink of an eye, the pit bull charged at me from five metres away.
Within seconds its body slammed into me with such force it knocked me off my scooter.
Before I could scream, its teeth clamped onto my left arm. I felt the searing pain as they sank in deep.
‘No! Get off me!’ I wailed, thrashing helplessly on the pavement.
The dog shook its head from side to side with my arm in its mouth, tearing into my flesh. Blood poured everywhere.
Please God, don’t let it go for my face, I begged silently.
READ MORE: 22-year-old woman killed by her own pet dogs
I knew if it got to my jugular I’d be a goner.
‘Somebody help me!’ I shrieked, kicking frantically with my legs, but it bit them too.
Just then, a neighbour appeared and pulled the pit bull away by its tail.
The dog let go of me and spun, lunging at my rescuer with terrifying speed.
As more people appeared on the street, the pit bull fled.
Shaking and sobbing, I fumbled for my phone, and called my daughter Rebecca, 40.
‘I’ve been hurt. I’m lying on the road up the street.’
‘I’m coming!’ she exclaimed.
Rebecca lived on my property nearby and within minutes, she and her partner, Dave, arrived.
‘A dog got me,’ I gasped.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Rebecca cried, taking in my shredded arm and my calf and shin torn open.
Dave jumped back in his car to chase off the dog who was still lurking around, but in his panic he skidded off the road and ended up in a ditch.
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Meanwhile, Rebecca cradled me while she called an ambulance, but none were available.
Instead, the police came, bundled me into the back of their ute and raced me to Wairoa hospital five minutes away.
Doctors took off my jeans and my calf muscle fell out. With that, I fainted in shock.
When I came to, the doctor explained I urgently needed specialist care.
‘You’ve got serious damage to your left arm,’ he said. ‘Your calf and shin are badly torn too. We’ll need to operate.’
Shortly after, I was loaded into a helicopter and airlifted to Hawke’s Bay hospital, 15 minutes away, for surgery.
There, I was taken into theatre to have my bites cleaned up, and over the next nine days I endured four operations.
They stitched and patched what they could, repaired my calf muscle, then took skin grafts from the front of my left thigh to try to rebuild the wounds
From my hospital bed, I kept replaying everything in my head.
The thought that haunted me most was my great-grandson. If he’d been with me, he could have died.
Back home four months later, I still feel pain in my arm and need to wear a compression glove that goes up to my elbow to help with the healing.
Worse, I’m too scared to leave the house alone. Every time I’ve tried, my chest clenched with fear.
The scooter that had given me freedom now felt like a trap.
‘I can’t do this,’ I sobbed to Rebecca. ‘I’m terrified another dog will get me.’
‘You don’t have to go out alone,’ she said, offering to drive me.
I’ve since bought a citronella dog spray for protection, though I pray I’ll never need it.
I’ve not dared to go on my mobility scooter again but I hope I can one day as I crave my independence.
Both dogs were put down. But it’s not the dogs that are at fault. Owners need to take responsibility and keep their pets in fenced properties.
I bear the scars, physically and emotionally. Sometimes I wake up reliving the moment, hearing the growl, feeling the teeth sink into my arm.
But my sweet great-grandson brings sunshine to my life every day.
