I was 12 and mauled by a St. Bernard. He put my whole head in his mouth and shook me like a rag doll. When he let go, I played dead. He came back once to see if I was still alive and I didn't move. When I was sure he was gone, I ran home. Dad raced me to the hospital. They quit counting at 300 stitches. Luckily most of them are covered by my hair.