An Exciting Adventure Story, by Sue

Every morning as Riccardo takes the girls to the bus stop, I take Cookie for a short walk. Cookie is a sweet dog, loving and kind to all humans except toddlers and anyone who tries to kiss me after 9 p.m. She isn't sweet to other dogs, however. When she sees another dog, she strains on her leash, snarling and gnashing her yellow teeth. Once within striking range, she then lunges forward and attacks. I've learned to pick her up as we pass most dogs, fearful not of any damage that Cookie would cause, but of the disapprobation of other dog owners who look at me as if I'd taught her to act like this. Me? I'd love a bouncy, happy dog who loves romping with others of her own species, rolling in the grass and chasing rabbits as one. I don't have that and that's OK too.

Last Wednesday morning Cookie and I were returning home from her morning constitutional when she spied a German Shepherd on a leash across the street. Predictably she began to pull towards the curb, barking, growling and lunging. The German Shepherd, not impressed by the beige ball of curls across the street, barked, growled and lunged in his turn. I looked at his owner and smiled. He smiled back. Dogs will be dogs and what can we do if our dogs are idiots?

I kept walking but Cookie lagged behind, still intent on frightening the German Shepherd. Suddenly, I couldn't hear the German Shepherd's barks anymore and turned to see which way he and his owner had gone. He hadn't gone anywhere. He'd escaped his leash and was running full speed across the street in the direction of his poodle snack.

I scooped up Cookie and held her in my arms like a burping baby as the German Shepherd leapt up and tried to yank Cookie's spinal cord from her body. He missed and I quickly turned around. Now the German Shepherd had both paws on my back shoulders and was attempting to rip off part of Cookie's chin. Cookie, never one to admit she's in trouble, twisted and lunged in my arms as she snapped and barked. She dodged all attempts to eat her.

The good news is that the attacker was interested only in Cookie and didn't bother me. The better news is that the owner came quickly behind his dog and grabbed him by the scruff of his back, apologizing about the broken leash and wrapping what was left of it around the dog's neck. Cookie and I returned home unharmed but shaken. Cookie was so upset that she drank some water, ate some food, dug in the trash can in the bathroom and took a long nap. (Maybe she wasn't that upset: she does that every day.)

Please post comments about this exciting story. You may sympathize with me, worrying in hushed tones that someone as nice as me would have to live through such an ordeal. You may also congratulate Cookie on her fortitude in the face of sure death. You may express wonder that I'm able to walk that same sidewalk when there's a known predator with a defective leash out and about. By all means, question if I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and ask if I have any of the symptoms. And if you have questions ("What color was the broken leash?" "What did the owner look like?"), don't hesitate to ask. As for me, I can't write anything else now. Reliving this moment has exhausted me. I must go look in the fridge for relief.