I previously posted about Tobie the ‘Mighty Dog,’ defender of running soldiers everywhere. Well this specific running soldier. Issue that dog a cape, please. Tobie was kind of peculiar in many ways. But one specific peculiarity about that dog was his tennis ball. Yes, I said tennis ball. Yes, I said HIS tennis ball. And he made damn sure you knew in no uncertain terms that IT WAS HIS tennis ball. You see, that particular tennis ball was his tennis ball and his alone. He would bring said tennis ball up to a person and put it down at said person’s feet and look up at the person as if to say, “Go ahead, I dare you. Go ahead, chickenshit. I double dare you. Touch my ball.” Then, he would look down at the ball, then he would look up at said person, then down at the ball, then up at the person, then down at the ball, then up at said person as if to say, “Well, whatsamatta? Why aren’t you trying to pick it up? Go on. Pick it up. I dare you. Are you chicken? You afraid? Yeah. You’re scared, aren’t you. What a baby. Pick up the damn ball already. I dare you.” But if said person tried to pick up that tennis ball, said person was liable to lose a chunk of personal property such as a hand or an arm or a huge chunk of hide. There was one minor exception to that little game of his. When Tobie put the ball at my feet and looked up at me, it usually generally always meant that he wanted to play catch (fetch). Notice I didn’t say fetch outright. That is because that dog could catch under certain circumstances. For example, if I lobbed the ball up in a slow-moving arc, Tobie could run underneath that tennis ball and grab it out of the air. Rip it right out of the air is a more accurate description. It reminded me of how it might look if Tobie were to rip the arm off of a would-be bad guy more so than snatching the tennis ball out of the air. Ouch! I could feel the pain just envisioning it. Damn that would hurt. I was sure glad that was my dog. One Saturday, a contractor came over to finish doing some work he had started on my house in Spanaway, Washington. We lived in a split-level house that had a balcony outside the living room on the second level. We asked the contractor to add stairs to that balcony so that we could walk out of the sliding glass door in the living room and go down to the backyard. We also asked him to build a deck at the ground level, which would serve as a landing for the stairs and as a barbeque deck. The contractor just needed to finish the lower deck. Right after I let him into the back yard, I remembered that Tobie was also in the backyard running loose. I immediately thought, “This could be bad. This could be really bad. This could be catastrophic. Blood could be drawn. That would be really, really bad.” Tobie didn’t know the contractor. The contractor didn’t know Tobie. Stranger meets stranger. The problem was, Tobie wouldn’t see it that way. Tobie would see it HIS WAY. HIS WAY loosely defined was that he was the guardian of all he purveyed in that backyard, and anybody who entered therein whom he did not know were strangers and therefore bad guys. And it was his job to protect me from everything bad. So of course, I panicked. I went running for the backyard, yelling as I went. I got there just in time to see Tobie the Mighty Dog, defender of the innocent, run under a full head of steam from the far side of the yard, leap into the air, and jump onto the contractor. I thought the worst as I waited for the screams to start. Instead, I heard laughter and shouts to stop. I looked and Tobie was standing on top of the contractor licking his face. Okay. Obviously, Tobie liked the contractor. Great. I walked over and said, “Sorry about that. I see you’ve met Tobie. Word of caution, though. Don’t mess with his tennis ball.” The contractor looked at me kind of funny and asked, “Tennis ball? What tennis ball?” About that time, Tobie brought the tennis ball over and laid it down at the contractor’s feet. The contractor started to reach down, but Tobie immediately started growling and snarling. The contractor looked at me and said, “What the hell?” I replied, “That’s what I was trying to tell you. That’s his ball. He didn’t put it there for you to play fetch with him. He’s letting you know, that’s his ball, DO NOT SCREW with it. It’s a game he plays with everybody but me.” “Got it. Do you think you could put him on a leash while I’m here?” “Consider it done.” Fair notice to the audience: I did have a sign that met all local statutes concerning potentially dangerous dogs. In fact, I had two. You just had to be real damn close to them to read them. But they were completely legal. I put one on the front gate facing out toward the front yard and the street. And I put the second one on the back of the fence facing out toward Military Road. Tobie just had to protect me from everything, so I felt it only fitting to get a sign to warn people about the inherent danger they faced if they decided to tangle with him. Tobie was so protective that he would knock me over and stand guard over me when cars passed by on the street. Like, for real dog. Cars aren’t going to jump a ditch, crash through evergreen trees, smash through huge boulders that I had hauled in to make a perimeter around my yard, and knock down a fence just to get to me. In all likelihood, the damn car probably wouldn’t even be running anymore at that point even if it made it through all of those obstacles. Although, I must say, one clown tried one time when he was drunk. But he never got past the boulders. They did their job. They did a serious number on the car. Tore its ass up! The guy couldn’t even get it off of the boulders. I called the cops about the accident. They took the drunk with them, and the car had to be lifted off of my boulders with a tow truck. Then, the smashed-up wreck was impounded. That was kind of like adding insult to injury. But I digress. The signs. Ah, yes. The signs. There were these three neighborhood terrorists, I mean kids, that always came by and taunted Tobie. One day, they came by and started taunting Tobie just as I got home. Tobie was snarling and jumping up the fence in an attempt to get at those boys. I thought to myself, “This is a Kodak moment.” I went and grabbed my camera and dashed outside and around to where those boys were. They were so engrossed with Tobie, they didn’t see me coming. Tobie sure did and alerted on me immediately. The boys looked up surprised. I said, “Hello boys. I want to show you something. Come here.” I led them over to where the sign was mounted on the fence. I asked, “Can any of you maroons read?” The toughest and biggest of the kids, obviously the leader, proved his lack of intelligence by asking, “Maroon? What in the hell is a maroon?” “Well, ‘Sheerluck’. You obviously don’t watch my favorite cartoon, Bugs Bunny. Cuz if you did, you’d know that a maroon is a moron, dipshit. What a maroon. Now, who of you can read? Any of you?” The smallest kid sputtered, “I can read.” “Fine. My-tee fine. Read that sign over there out loud while your two friends here stand right beside you.” “Why?” “Cuz punk. I’m bigger than you are and there ain’t anyone around to witness me kicking your ass. Read the damn sign.” The kid read, “Danger! Beware of Guard Dog. It is Trained to Attack.” Then, I snapped their picture next to the sign. The biggest kid asked, “Why did you take our picture?” “Your so damn smart. Figure it out, kid. I caught you teasing my dog. I showed you the warning sign. It will be proof for your parents after the dog tears your asses apart.” “What do you mean, after the dog tears our asses apart?” “Well, you see it’s like this kid, I left the doors to the garage open over there. Both the front and the back door. Tobie there is a pretty smart dog. As soon as I say one word, he is going to be on you like ‘the stink on shit’ so to speak. If you know what I mean.” “But you wouldn’t sic him on us, would you?” “What a fabulous idea. Now, why didn’t I think of that? You know, punk. My wife told me that you three have been by here every day for a week teasing the dog. Now it’s his turn for payback, don’t you think?” “You wouldn’t?” “Oh really? Tobie, go.” In a flash, Tobie was gone, dashing through the open garage and out into the front yard. The kids were also gone in a flash. They were running for dear life, screaming at the top of their lungs. When Tobie reached me, I barked, “Tobie, stop. I think we taught those kids a lesson. I don’t think they’ll tease you anymore.” After that day, I never saw those kids come around again. They had started taking a different route to and from home. Tobie the Mighty Dog had guarded against another exercise in futility.
by 
by 