The Bull Dog is probably in the top three when it comes to aggressive attack dogs. I've encountered two, a black one and a white one, both equally fearsome in their unwarranted attack. In each instance both animals performed complicated physical displays before their attack, though they differed significantly. The white dog sneezed repeatedly, coating the ground with a thick, slippery slobber, and proceeded to race around on the coated surface, snapping at its own coiled lump of a tail. As it spun in circles, its ass began to get away from it and slide outward, the beast tried to correct this with a massive burst from its front legs, but it ended up in a wild belly spin that sent it careening into a drinking fountain. I fell upon it immediately, wrapping my shirt around its throat and choking it unconscious. The dog fought wildly, and the thick folds of skin on his face made it difficult to hold on, but it wasn't as strong as you'd expect. It was really weak, actually. I pressed its flat, wrinkly face into the asphalt until it was asleep, bundled it up, and drove it to the Daisy Hill Dog Pound and dropped it off with Curtis Bailey, a buddy of mine from community college. I asked him to make sure the dog wasn't adopted and was put down humanely after it's one week waiting period. I also paid for a round of shots and had its teeth cleaned. It was the least I could do.
The black bulldog attacked me around eight months later, and his defeat was so easy I contemplated not mentioning it in this entry. I was mailing a letter and the dog popped out from the box where I was dropping my post; it barked, and stared at me with its head cocked to the side. Startled, my heart beating a hundred miles per hour, I dropped to one knee and called to the animal, pretending to be its owner. The dog jumped from the box, trotted over to me, completely fooled, and allowed me to pet it for a minute. I don't have to tell you that I was very nervous, this dog had a look about it that I can't put into words. It kept staring at the front of the post office and then back to me. So, with some trepidation, I led it to my car, coaxed it to jump into the front seat, belted it in, and started driving. I drove east for around an hour and fifteen minutes, one eye on the road and one eye on the bulldog. Luckily he fell asleep about forty minutes in, so I calmed a tad. I stopped just outside the Foreman Dam, grabbed my coat and hopped out. It was winter and I was freezing my ass off, so I hurriedly grabbed the sleeping bulldog and set it on a bed of pine needles. It woke up as I was getting ready to jump back in the car, so I hustled into my seat and slammed the door. I was worried about an attack out this far, medical attention would be hard to come by. The drive home was uneventful.
In part three I'll tell you how to beat a German Sheppard all out blitzkrieg. I almost lost this one, but it extended itself too far, and was stopped cold in its tracks.