When I was a teenager, my friend’s German Shepherd bit me badly.
The dog wasn’t violent or dangerous. My friend’s house had an enclosed breezeway outside the front door. I had to enter the area, walk to the door, and knock. It was dark at night, and the dog was sleeping, unseen, on the breezeway’s floor. I stepped on him, and he did the normal thing – woke up frightened, snarled at me, and attacked. He bit my arm so hard, his teeth made puncture wounds through a heavy parka.
The incident was unintended and just one of those things, and I didn’t blame anyone. I certainly wasn’t angry at an innocent dog. What did annoy me, however, was that nobody in that family apologized for putting me, and any other visitors, in harm’s way (my friend was expecting me to stop by). I’d done absolutely nothing wrong, but I was scared and injured. All those people did was get indignant and say, “He’s a good dog.”