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I've been working pretty hard lately. Long hours. Impossible deadlines. You know how it goes.
Sunday afternoon arrives and I find myself not at work. Weird. Anyway, I had been planning to go to the lake, do some walking, and relax. It's beautiful out there in the winter. There aren't many people there in the winter. By the way, yes... it's still winter here. There are only about a half dozen houses that are lived in all year. The rest are summer only.
Anyway, I'm heading toward a hill with the intention of hiking up to take some pictures. I'm carrying some photography equipment. One of the items I was carrying was a pretty meaty Manfrotto tripod with a heavy cast aluminum head (Manfrotto 190CL and 222 head, for those in the know) and a sling bag.
One of the houses that is lived in all year is right by the highway. It's your basic dump. The house looks OK but the yard is a dump with garbage all over and a big fence of assorted shit propped up to keep the dogs in. Much of the fence is unpainted, weather browned OSB.
This house by the highway happens to be the home of a bunch of dogs. These dogs are a little crazy and real stupid. They aren't there in the summer. Maybe they're new. Anyway, from two blocks before the house, I can hear the dogs barking like idiots. The frenzy got so fever pitched as I got close that I could hear these stupid dogs pounding the fence. It was really loud, like players hitting the boards in a hockey game. They must be some pretty sturdy dogs. I was a block past when the owner opened the rickety screen door to yell at the dogs to shut up. The dogs, of course, ignored the screaming and just chimed in with their audible support.
That's when a big black dog came after me. I don't think this dog was from Sanford & Son's rabid dog emporium, I think it was just a lose dog that was a mean piece of shit. The dog tore my leg pretty good before I could golf a direct blow onto it's skull with the head of my tripod. It was a sturdy dog. It sounded like I hit a tree stump. The dog pulled back a little and I hit him again but the second time I just barely tagged him. He scurried away.
It was a load of laughs.
I don't have a clue who the dog belongs to or where he came from. There wasn't a lot of time to talk to him and look for tags, you know, but if I was able to track down the owner, what do you suppose the odds are that the owner would tell me to go **** myself, that his sweet dog wouldn't hurt a fly, and then carve into my good leg with a chain saw? I'd say those odds are pretty good.
You know Dave, I don't wish you, or anyone, to be attacked by a dog but I think dog owners should be aware that their sweet, lovable animals turn into vicious little pricks when the owners aren't around and when they're either scared or protecting their territory.
This isn't about pit bulls or any specific breed. It's about people controlling their dogs. I have to say, if I would have had access to a gun at the cottage I would have gone back, tried to find the dog, and harvested it.
Tom Brown is BAD ASS!!
