Once -- when I was maybe 13. A mean dog got loose and bit me while the owner had his gate open to pull his car into his garage. I was so shook up that I could not even remember where I was at the time. My dad drove down a series of dead-end streets -- they were all dead-end along the trail I was riding -- one by one until we found the right house. Then he reported the dog to the police, the police impounded it for a couple weeks, the owner was peeved, but at least I was eventually reassured that I wasn't going to get rabies. I'll always remember my dad for going through all that trouble.