TOM PARKER BOWLES: How I fought to save my Jack Russell Maud from the jaws of a 10st mastiff who savaged her in London street

It was the most glorious of mid-November London mornings; It was such a wonderful day that you could cut it in half and dip it in butter.

After a few hours working at my desk, it was time for lunch with my old friend Nick at a restaurant in Bayswater, west London; A real lunch.

Maud, my two-year-old Jack Russell terrier, was wild with joy. Like most dogs, he tends to dance when his collar and leash are on, and he gets even more excited when we turn left towards Holland Park (instead of turning right for his short pre-bedtime stroll).

So we set off; the sky was a delicious cerulean blue, the early winter sun was shining overhead, he was barely worried, Maud was tugging at his collar, her little tail wagging so furiously she was nothing but a dirty white blur.

As we descended into Kensington High Street, on a route we could both walk blindfolded, I had the rare feeling that all was right with the world. The job is done, the dog is happy, and the prospect of a nice lunch with a good friend is just a walk through Hyde Park.

Then it happened. A few meters ahead of us, about halfway down Kensington High Street, I saw two relatively short people with their two huge dogs trying to hold on to the metal jumper cables.

Maud noticed them first and tried to get as far away from them as possible, tucking her ears behind her head. He didn’t bark or provoke them, he just wanted to get out of the way. Don’t think hard.

I also felt they needed a few feet of space, so to pass and avoid them, I moved to the edge of the curb, out of reach of their leader.

Then all hell broke loose. The dog on the right (and I’m pretty sure it was a Cane Corso, a large Italian mastiff breed) spotted Maud and a second later, there she was, teeth bared, eyes focused on her tiny prey.

The dog’s walker could not resist the 10th brute, and in a split second he was swept off his feet, dragged first behind and then under the beast like a cowboy thrown from his horse. I tried to block the dog and take Maud, but the attacker was too fast.

That moment will never leave me, replaying over and over in my head like a scary Instagram reel. Within minutes the mastiff had locked his jaws on my tiny, less than a stone terrier, who was screaming in terror. Then came the most heartbreaking scream of pain.

My memory is getting pretty fuzzy at this point.

The only thing that mattered was getting this monster away from my dog, and pure instinct took over.

Believe me, I’m no hero and I usually run a mile away from any fight, be it human or canine. But I knew that if her assailant could raise his head and shake her like a rag or crush her like a hairy Twig, Maud would be finished.

I threw myself at the dog and tried desperately to loosen its jaws, which were clamped like a vice on its soft white belly.

It’s the little things I remember: the fog on the walker’s goggles and the look of absolute terror trapped beneath her dog; The sweet, slightly putrid smell of the attacking dog’s breath on my face; the stickiness of his saliva as I desperately tried to open those jaws like a pot-bellied Tarzan; the sheer brute strength of the beast and the shine of its coat.

Crowds gathered around me in terror as I struggled on the ground. Strangely, one of the headphones continued to play the podcast I was listening to even when I was crossing the road.

I particularly remember a kind old gentleman who hit the dog with his cane while we were scratching on the ground.

Cane Corso, a large Italian mastiff breed similar to the species that attacked Maud

The attack seemed to last for hours. In reality it was probably no longer than 30 seconds.

I think I finally kicked that poor creature in the balls and it loosened its grip for a moment.

Maud was free and in my arms. It was also a mass of blood, flesh and fur; There was a large, gaping wound on his right side, with deep, ominous puncture marks where the incisors had penetrated his skin.

Usually I faint just at the sight of blood, but somehow something deep inside kicked in and I managed to hold it together. Only God knows how.

Then it was about survival, his survival. I didn’t have time to get details of who walked that dog, witness statements or anything else. Maud looked at me with those dark brown eyes, brown as Galaxy chocolate, that trembled in silent shock.

At that point, dazed and helpless, I knew he needed to go to the vet. A nice lady who witnessed everything whistled like a sailor to call a taxi. Then I went to the wonderful Village Vet in Brook Green and headed off to my vet; I started the taxi, cursing the lights and praying to every god I could think of.

Nothing else mattered, my entire world was concentrated on this little Jack Russell trembling and bleeding in my arms.

Within minutes we were there and in the arms of nurse Kerriann, who knew Maud well. And Joanna, the vet who cleaned his wounds and filled him with antibiotics and drugs.

They were nurses there so they couldn’t operate there so we took a taxi, Maud was much more stoic than me. Now off we went to Village Vet Chiswick and head vet Ourania, another hero who got him into surgery.

Tom and Maud are now on the mend, though not yet fully back on track

‘Should I come with him?’ I asked. “Absolutely not,” he replied firmly. ‘We’ll let you know when we find out.’

And that’s it. I stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, my head filled with terrifying thoughts and images of massive chest sores, secondary infections, and skin shedding.

At that point the calm image dissipated and I burst into great sobs on Chiswick High Road. I must look crazy. The only thing going for it was the bar.

Two pairs of Laphroaig were later and the tears still flowed like the River Dee.

It was still a few hours before the call came; Maud had survived the surgery but was still very, very sick. I had to take him to another practice, the Village Vet in Hampstead, which has 24 hour emergency surgery.

He spends the next two days there with another heroine, Dr. He would spend it under Natalie’s care. He was determined. They thought he would succeed.

For the first time in nine hours, I could really think about what had happened. God, I felt guilty. Why hadn’t I gone to pick up Maud, crossed the road, or even taken a taxi to the restaurant instead of walking? It was entirely my fault that the stupid owner put his dog in danger.

Now I know I need to grab Corso by his hind legs, or worse, stick my finger where the sun doesn’t shine. Apparently this causes dogs to suddenly lose their grip.

But hindsight is a wonderful thing and I didn’t have time to think logically.

Maud is recovering at home from her horrific injuries, but she may have psychological scars as well.

So what about the person who attacked Maud? I firmly believe that there is no such thing as a bad dog, only a bad owner. I get the feeling that the two walkers are employees, not owners, of someone who lives in one of the large houses at the back of Kensington High Street. So I hate to blame them.

To prevent a similar incident from happening again, I called the police and explained what happened. The police were polite and helpful, but couldn’t do much without the walker (or the owner’s information).

I don’t want the dog that attacked Maud to be killed or to face criminal charges. Emergency vet care isn’t cheap but I’m lucky Maud is covered by Petplan which has been incredibly effective so far. It’s not every day things like this are said about an insurance company.

What I do want, though, is for these big, strong and often beautiful dogs to be muzzled in public. Is this too much to ask?

I’m definitely not a fan of ad-hoc laws, banning or eradicating certain genres. I prefer to put the responsibility on the owner. If you cannot control your dogs, train them, walk them and take good care of them, you do not have the right to own a dog. It’s that simple.

There is another pair of Cane Corsos that I sometimes see in Hyde Park that are not only muzzled, but also beautifully behaved (I assume at least that these are a completely different pair and not the same pairs walked by someone who knows how to handle them better). A friend sent me a photo of her little dog nose to nose with them. And they posed no threat whatsoever.

“What this whole terrible episode has shown me,” Tom writes, “is the absolute kindness of strangers. Not only are there people trying to help, but there are also thousands of nice messages I receive when I post about the attack on Instagram.

However, these are dogs bred to protect cattle from wolves roaming around. They are intelligent, sophisticated killers and are completely outside their natural habitat on the high street of central London.

I’ve seen what they can do to a little dog. God only knows what they could do to a little child.

I hope that Maud is now on the mend, but she is not yet completely unstuck.

There is the possibility of further surgery and a long and painful road to recovery for this sweetest, sharpest and most adorable of terriers. Not to mention the psychological scars it will carry.

What this whole terrible incident showed me was the absolute kindness of strangers. Not only were there people trying to help, but there were also thousands of beautiful messages I received when I posted on Instagram about the attack; I only did this to emphasize the importance of responsible dog ownership.

London is much more compassionate than we could ever imagine.

As Maud now sits at my feet, bandaged like a mummy and still a little dazed from all that medication, I thank God for the quality of British vets.

And although I will forever berate myself for what happened to my beautiful dog, I can (sort of) console myself with this thought: Even if just one potentially dangerous dog is muzzled because of Maud’s horrific attack, he won’t have suffered in vain.