My bark is worse than my bite

I met a pit bull in the shadow of the state capitol today. He was a friendly looking “good boy,” perhaps in part because of his coloring – he looked a bit like a palomino pony.

His body was rock hard, though, as is always the case. That tightly coiled musculature always seems to me to be a clear warning of the potential for mahem.
But, I put on a happy face and pretended not to fear this creature. I called him names like, “Sport,” and “Fella” and hoped that he couldn’t smell my fear.

Apparently, he didn’t as I’m here to tell the tale. And while I’m at it, let me share another dog tail – this is the account of an encounter with another dangerous canine - - a meeting at the crossroads that took place in Kensington (my neighborhood in San Diego) in 1959.

I crossed Adams Avenue, the only intersection likely to offer any kind of traffic, without incident and made my way north on Marlborough Drive. I only had to make two right turns, though Middlesex does veer to the left just before becoming a long cul-de-sac in the 4300 block.

I was about halfway home – maybe a bit farther – walking on the east side of the street. I stepped off the curb and began crossing Lymer Drive or Norfolk Terrace – two of three streets that form a sort of pitchfork shape with the points intersecting Marlborough.

When on my bike, I often took a lazy detour east on Lymer, passing Norfolk at the midpoint and then slipping back toward Marlborough on Rochester Road. Taking that "scenic route" at least doubled the distance I had to travel to cover those two blocks, but, on my bike, such matters were of little consequence – a few extra strokes of the pedal, nothing more.

My gaze, that night, was probably focused on the pavement, having been cast downward to negotiate the curb. Suddenly, an unexpected movement caught my eye.

Startled, I froze in place – perhaps a quarter of the way across the street.

It was a dog! He was padding along next to the curb, approaching the intersection from my right.

Had I continued walking, our paths would have crossed just before I could ascend to the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

My having stopped short, facing the animal caught his attention and he, too, put on the brakes.

We each stood our ground for what must have been just a few seconds, but seemed to be a long time. Both of us, no doubt, were processing the situation.

My risk assessment was fairly straightforward: this was a dog and just about any dog is a threat to people. They all can run faster than we can and can bite us and make us bleed.

The dog was probably operating on a higher level. He no doubt understood that I was a human and was probably confused by my behavior.

Most humans display affection or anger toward dogs. They either call out – something along the lines of "here boy!" or "Whatcha doin'?" – or they bend over and grab a real or imagined rock and threaten to hurl it at the dog.

I imagine this dog would have advanced in a friendly fashion if I had offered my current favorite canine salutation: "Hi, Pooch! Are you a good dog?"

I've been told that a friendly tone and an extended hand – with fingers curled – will usually get the tail a-waggin'; and that's a sure sign that the dog isn't looking for a fight.

But on that autumn evening I lacked the skills and experience to take control of the situation – and the dog no doubt became nervous, suspicious – worried.

He finally took the initiative. Hoping, I imagine, to back me down, he began to growl and show his teeth.

Already frozen in place, I then became further immobilized with fear. I assumed that the growling was a precursor to an attack; but I couldn't find a way to communicate the message to my feet that I wanted to back up – to yield the street to my increasingly belligerent adversary.

Familiar only with two options in similar circumstances: fight or flight, the dog must have become even more confused by my inaction. He certainly couldn't have understood the term: "scared stiff."

Finally, perhaps in frustration, the dog decided to escalate the situation; he issued a snarling, threatening, barking challenge and took a tiny step toward me.

As a sixth grader, I was about half way through the 13-year process some refer to as socialization. The mission of public schools, at least in part, is to create good citizens who are able to co-exist with others in harmony.

When confronted by one who didn't have the advantages evolution had provided to me, I discovered that neither my advanced human brain, my years of education nor my opposable thumbs were of any use in direct combat at the intersection of Marlborough and Lymer (or possibly Norfolk Terrace).

No, when confronted by that little dog, all of my human abilities shut down completely. In the final seconds of our battle, I acted without thought, without reason, without intention – I acted on pure instinct.

When that dog barked at me. I – involuntarily, but apparently convincingly – barked right back.

And MY bark carried the day. The dog retreated and left the field of battle – with his tail between his legs.

That night, in a small clearing near the center of Kensington, I became king of the forest…the top dog!