Intervention

It was a Saturday, Danny was a baby, and I had left him at home with his father and the other kids while I walked down to my mother's house. As I rounded the curve leading to the village, I saw to my left, the first house, and the dog on the front lawn. It was a German Shepherd, and not too many years before, a dog like that had viciously attacked my two-year-old in broad daylight on public property, so I decided to exercise caution and got myself behind the guard rails which were on the opposite side of the road. I figured, just to be on the safe side, not to intrude on his territory. I also knew to avoid eye contact with the dog, and to keep my pace steady. Both of which I did---until the dog charged across the road, at first barking and then snarling and growling. I had to stop as he was directly in front of me, with just two thin wire guardrails separating us. The teeth were what I remember. I tried talking to him; he probably couldn't even hear above the noises he was making; then I tried calling to someone in the house, but no one responded. I tried taking a step back in the direction I'd come from, but the dog followed me. I tried to walk forward, toward the village, but the dog went that way also, cornering me no matter what move I made. I was hoping a car would come along and see my plight and help me, or at least crash into the dog, but that didn't happen. I think a car or two passed by, but evidently nothing registered. I felt hopeless, and completely helpless. All at once, out of the misty morning, a glimmer of hope. Kathleen appeared, riding her bike down the sidewalk. She must have been nine years old at the time, and probably on her way to a friend's house. I called to her to please tell the dog's owner to come get him away from me, but instead she called the dog. I think his name might have been Morgan.* He went right to her: talk about the dog whisperer.
I continued on my way to my mother's, but felt shaken, and wanted to go back home. Dave had the three kids, and I had no car, so I called the dog's owner, told him what happened, and asked him to keep his dog inside so I could safely walk back home. To my surprise, he refused. He said he didn't believe in restraining animals, and vehemently stated that his dog would never cross the road. When I told him the dog had, he refused to believe it. I finally called Dave, who had to pack everybody up to drive me back home.
POSTSCRIPT: Not very long after that incident, the dog's owner came to my door, soliciting, ironically enough, for some religious organization. I politely declined, and afterwards regretted that I hadn't reminded him of the dog incident. But not too long after that, it seems now, I was glad I hadn't said anything, because the man died, rather suddenly and prematurely, I recall.
* Reading back, Morgan was another, and friendlier, German Shepherd. I don't know the name of the bad animal, but I'm thinking that little savior on the bicycle might recall the name.