It was summertime, and hubby and I grilled some steaks outside and stuffed ourselves so full, we decided to be lazy and not to clean up the mess that night. Early the next morning, hubby went out to put away the barbecue grill and toss some leftover bits of food into the garbage can for pick up that day. I was making coffee, when suddenly I felt a shiver run up my back. Something was wrong outside. I looked out the window and there was hubby, out by the street, casually closing the lid of the garbage container. Nothing wrong there. My eye was caught by movement in the pecan orchard next property over. Slinking behind the trees and creeping up on hubby—and the smell of steak bits—was a pack of dogs. I’m talking about LARGE DOGS: a Rotweiler, a German Shepherd mix, a Doberman, a Boxer, and a giant Heinz 57 brindled beast. I had never seen them before in the neighborhood and had no idea who so many huge pedigreed dogs could belong to. I decided they must be a wild pack of runaways who drank from the river nearby, and foraged for themselves in our secluded part of town. Hubby didn’t notice the dogs at all, and with nearly 100 feet to get to the house, he wasn’t going to make it inside before they got to him. The only thing I was wearing was an oversized T-shirt, and my head of wild curly long hair. I had no weapon of any kind but I’d trained horses and dogs since I was a child, and was not the least bit worried about myself. It was hubby, a city boy, I was concerned for. He didn’t even realize what was going on yet… the Shepherd and Dobe were slithering toward him on their bellies, and only a short distance away from him. Without even considering what I was doing, I let the berserker in me explode into Danger Mode. I ran out the door and slammed it HARD. The noise distracted the pack dogs and the lead dog whipped around toward me.
I stuck my hands into my tangle of curls and roughed it all up till I had a huge eruption of hair around my head. Then I ran straight at the lead dog, BARKING like a maniac in the deepest, scariest dog voice I could manage. And with 8 years of voice training, that was pretty loud. The pack dogs stopped in their tracks. The lead dog continued to inch toward me, cautiously. This was when hubby saw what was going on and freaked out. I motioned for him to stay where he was. I stomped forward, staring the lead dog straight in the eye. Now only about five dog-lengths away, I crouched down, shook my hair at him wildly, as I barked and growled and flexed my muscles like the Incredible Hulk. The beast froze, confused. I ran the rest of the way toward him, barking and swinging my arms like a windmill. His nerve broke. He yelped and leaped backward, racing from my yard with his pack following on his heels. Hubby ran over. “Are you crazy? They could have torn you to shreds.” “No, they could not,” I said. “They were scared of me. You looked like breakfast.” “What were you thinking? How did you know that would work?” “Have you ever seen an animal puff out his fur and turn sideways when accosted by an enemy? The bigger the hair, the bigger the warning for other animals not to bother them. And my big hair and big voice makes me the most dangerous motherfucker in this neighborhood. Nature’s way of keeping the peace.”