My First Bite Suit Experience: Real vs Expectation
I decided to get certified as a decoy. For anyone who doesn’t know, a decoy is the guy or girl inside the bite suit — the one who takes the hits, the bites, from dogs during protection training and working dog sports.
I’ve taken bites on sleeves from my own dogs, Ace and Ava, but it’s different. One, because they’re my dogs — they won’t truly go all out on me. Two, I wasn’t in a suit, and they weren’t fully trained in protection anyway.
I wanted to get certified so that if a client wanted their dog to go into protection work, I’d be better equipped. For me, learning more about the craft has never been an insecurity. Dog training is a never-ending fountain of knowledge. And understanding how to move, how to take a bite, and most importantly how to keep the dog safe — that’s my first priority. I have tremendous respect for the craft, so having someone teach me and give me a second pair of eyes to see the things I can’t? Invaluable.
When they asked if I was ready to get into the suit, I didn’t hesitate. I was ready. Sure, I was nervous — naturally — and yeah, kind of scared. It felt like a trial-by-fire situation. I listened to the other decoys talk through the principles of where a dog will bite, and how they’d critique my movements after.
The suit was heavier than I expected. Bulky. Moving around in it wasn’t easy. Then came the walk onto the field. It felt like the clicks of a rollercoaster climbing the track, click, click, click — slowly reaching the top. I looked over my shoulder and into the eyes of the beast. Daunting.
I knew this dog, but I didn’t know him. Meaning: I’d seen him work, I knew he was fast, ferocious. They warned me he’s the hardest-hitting dog in the camp. Two-time “Hardest Hitting Dog” winner at the Space Coast Competition. Lucky me. My first run in the suit was with a dog that could, in all reality, rip me apart.
Click, click. The apex. The track disappears, the coaster levels out for that half-second before the drop. I looked into the eyes of the Malinois one last time, and honestly? The only thing I could compare it to was the first time I ever did drugs. The stupidest fucking decision — but once you’re there, you’re committed. So let’s party.
“ATTACK.”
The word had barely left his mouth when I felt the jaws of the beast. The teeth — yeah, the teeth, or at least one of them — went right through the suit. I felt it all. My arm was locked in a vice, pressure squeezing harder and harder. I had underestimated his strength, and in seconds he took me to the ground.
For a moment, I was sure my arm was bleeding. At the very least, I knew it’d bruise. I honestly didn’t think I could take another bite — it was that bad. Like getting punched in the face mid-fight. It just got real.
But I didn’t complain. Instead, I went the other way. I leaned into it. Took another bite. And another. All in all, six hard bites. None of them hurt like that first one.
When it was over, I tried to hide the mark. Ed caught it, though, and showed everyone. They laughed. To them, it was like a badge of honor. And maybe they’re right.
That day, I walked off the field with bruises, but also with lessons. Discipline, respect, and control — the same principles that build strong dogs and strong humans.
