My Hero

Tim and I love to walk.  Rain or shine, hot or cold, we walk.  At home, on vacation, visiting family or friends, we walk.

So when we were away for the weekend awhile back with some friends of ours, the four of us went out for...a walk.

It started out nicely, strolling through a neighborhood much like ours--wide streets, no sidewalks, houses far apart, lots of trees and other green stuff.  "The country" as Rose likes to call it.

As we approached this one house, we noticed some dogs in the yard.  Three dogs to be exact.  Three really big dogs, who, when they spotted us, all went on high alert and began barking, and not in a "goody, goody, we love people" sort of way.  More like in a "Ready boys?  Let's get'em" sort of way.

But since they were at the top of a really really long driveway, and the owner was out in the yard, we weren't too worried.  Deciding to err on the side of caution though, we shifted over to the far side of the street.  Which only ticked off the dogs more.

Suddenly, as though someone had shouted, "Release the hounds!", 8000 pounds of Cujo and company came racing down the driveway, barking, growling and snapping like they had just spotted the fox...and it was us.

At first, we didn't panic, thinking that surely they would stop once they reached their property line.  Surely they were trained, or there was one of those invisible fences, or...something, anything to save us from the jaws of death headed our way.

Time slowed down as we watched, horrified, while they seemed to be gaining speed as they neared the end of the driveway, instead of slowing down into a nice, non-threatening trot.

Pieces of Discovery Channel shows began flashing through my mind.  Shark Week, Hogs Gone Wild, Man vs. Wild, those guys who live in a swamp.  There had to be some useful bit of survival information that applied here.  Why oh why hadn't I paid more attention, maybe Tivo or DVR'd it, taken some notes  when I had the chance.

What did they say to do?  Climb a tree, cover your head, swim fast, get under a table, carry a taser?  I couldn't think.

"Stand still,"  someone said.  "Don't run."

Yeah.  Okay.  The small part of my brain that wasn't running around screaming, "We're all going to die!" knew that that is what the so-called "experts" say, but when you are looking death in the jowls, that advice seems, what is the word I'm looking for?  Oh yeah.  STUPID.  Sure, I'll just stand here and do nothing while the Hounds of the Baskervilles gnaw on my leg and rip off my arm.

Of course, the thought did cross my mind though that Tim was on my left, between me and Jaws, so maybe I had time to shimmy up a tree after all.

As we all stood there, petrified, a miraculous thing happened.  The dogs skidded to a sudden halt at the edge of the driveway...or at least two of them did.

The third slowed down and looked over his shoulder at the other two like, "Come on, we can do this.  What're you wimps stopping there for?  Look.  It's a four course meal and they're just standing there waiting to be eaten.  Those fools have clearly fallen for the old "don't move" slogan our PR people put out.  Saps.  They should have run for their lives when they had the chance.

He then flew out into the road and headed straight for Tim, teeth snapping, spittle flying, ears pinned back.  Hitchcock couldn't have come up with anything more terrifying.  This dog made his birds look like they belonged in a Disney movie designing dresses and sweeping out the attic.

Tim apparently felt the same way, because the next thing I knew, he had completely discarded the common "don't move" wisdom and put a shield between himself and the dog.  A human shield.  Me.

One minute, he was on my left facing down The Beast.  The next, he was waaay far on the other side of me.  Wow. Somebodies fight or flight instinct kicked in.  Way to go Galahad.

Before I could shove him in front of me once more though, the dog seemed to tire of the "terrorize the people" game he'd been playing, and with a final snap of teeth that really needed to be filed down, or pulled, he trotted off back to his buddies, tail in the air, chest all puffed out, patting himself on the back for a job well done.

Tim, of course, denies his actions to this day, and when we were once again "threatened" by a vicious monster a few weeks later as we walked around our neighborhood, he made a point of putting me behind him to alone bear the brunt of the deadly attack.

"Gee," I quipped, peering over his shoulder at the fearsome monster bearing down on us, "what was your first clue we were in danger again?  Was it the way the poodle was wagging his tail as he ran over, or the slobbering kisses he's giving you?"

"You never know what will happen when a dog is charging," Tim defended himself, scratching "killer" behind the ear.  "I didn't want you to get bitten."

My hero.