HE'S BAD, HE'S BAD, HE'S REALLY,REALLY BAD

Thanks again Joan for the cartoon version of Mighty Dog.

My Mighty Dog is a 10 inches tall, 12 pound bundle of attitude. Terriers are like that you know. Now, he is the wuss of the world when it comes to pain but he still has the heart of a lion when it comes to combat. Weird combination for sure. It would be like a boxer yelling "ouch" each time he is punched.

In June of '09, Mighty was recovering from knee surgery. During his life, both of his knees have blown out and he has had to have his anterior ligaments restructured out of pins, screws, and believe it or not, 80 pound test fishing line. He is my little bionic, $3000.00 dog.

I had taken him for a therapeutic walk in the city park that summer of '09 when he was mugged by a 3 pound Min Pin named Fifi. That experience really damaged his ego and he has just never had a chance to redeem himself. Terriers live and die by their attitudes.

His pride really took a hit that day. He so wanted a rematch with the "terrible Fifi" but it never happened though I have taken him to the same park many times. I know he was hoping for just one more shot at her to prove himself.

He tried to rebuild his pride with macho scampers after the occasional stray rabbit but those never ended in a face to face. He had to be content with those little white bunny tails that would rapidly disappear from sight. For almost two years, he was a dog missing a part, his pride. Then the other morning, he was finally able to salvage that wounded ego.

I had been awakened in the wee hours by a dog barking. It sounded like my neighbor's dog had taken to bothering the cows again. I was thinking there was only one dog this time and it seemed as if he was in the pasture beyond my back fence. Finally the barking stopped.

Thanks to the barking I was wide awake and Mighty always assumes that when my eyes open, it is a signal to relax his bladder control. So he was standing at the edge of the bed, indicating it was time to go out and to please hurry. It was only 4:30 but tell that to his bladder. So I got dressed and took him out.

Instead of watering my Liriope as usual, he soundlessly tore around the corner of the house and I followed him in my best old lady run/shuffle. I tried to keep the flash light on him and rasped a muted "Mighty", trying not to wake the rest of the neighbors. I was fearing a raccoon or worse, a skunk. Perhaps that was why the neighbor dog had been barking.

Then the unmistakable sound of dogs fighting broke out, Mighty's high pitched squeal in the mix. My heart pounded in my chest in fear. My neighbor's dogs are Pit Bulls.

The "super moon" had illuminated the night but I still needed my flashlight to locate the actual fight. They were in the corner of the property under some small trees. I was partially relieved it was just one dog Mighty was scrapping with. It was a brown and white dog I didn't recognize.

As I ran closer to the fight, I saw the dog was at least 3 times Mighty's size but thankfully not a Pit. The big dog suddenly took off running with my pint sized pugilist hot on his tail. The strange dog was looking frantically for a way out of the fenced yard as he ran.

His long healthy legs carried him yards ahead of Mighty's stumpy, bionic ones but hey, Mighty was actually chasing him. They tore up the hill towards the front of the property. Mighty was now a good 75 feet behind doing his best in his flat out, low to the ground, fast pumping scoot while barking doggy obscenities at the fleeing hound.

Strange Dog flew past me towards the front yard and I screamed at Mighty as he rounded the shed. He never slowed as he ran towards me, still intent on the dog he was chasing.

In relief, I leaned down with my large 3 cell flashlight still in my hand to try to catch Mighty as he ran by. He ran right into the flashlight's barrel with his head as I grabbed for him. It sounded for all the world like a baseball hitting an aluminum bat. He staggered a bit then dropped to the ground, feet in the air quivering, totally stunned. 'Oh crap,' I thought in panic, 'I've killed my dog.'

He was glassy eyed and unable to stand so I scooped him up and hurried to the house. As I got to the door, I saw Strange Dog awkwardly climbing the fence in terror. How he got in my yard I still don't know, I only know how he got out.

Mighty had not a scratch on him and was fine in about 10 minutes. Guess the flashlight just rang his bell. However there has been a decided change in his swagger and attitude since then.

The old fighter won that round paws down and had I not clobbered him, he might have actually drawn flesh. There is no doubt that the Mighty One is back and so is his strut. RIP humiliation by Terrible Fifi.
He is back and he is bad.