While I was stationed in the 864th Engineer Battalion at Fort Lewis, a fellow soldier in my unit, Robert Caldwell, gave me a dog. This dog was no ordinary dog by any means. In fact, it was a very special dog. It was a purebred Doberman Pinscher, and it was quite obvious that the dog had received training. The dog’s name was Tobie. And from the first moment we met, that dog latched onto me like we were joined at the hip. It was weird but cool at the same time. When I was off-duty, Tobie and I went everywhere together. Tobie especially liked to go running with me. Rain or shine we would run. I had one running route near my house out in Spanaway that was essentially a loop that started and ended at my house and took us on an eight-mile circuit. It was one of my favorite routes because traffic was generally usually always pretty light and the scenery was pretty good. There were only a few drawbacks to this route. One big drawback was that I had to pass by this house with a Doberman Pinscher in the yard every time I took this route. That damn dog came within a few feet of taking a chunk of my hide a few times and It was getting old. The owner of the dog obviously didn’t give a shit what his damn dog did to innocent passers-by, so I decided to take action. One day on my daily run, I armed myself with a set of nunchucks. If that damn dog came at me that day, I vowed I would go ‘Bruce Lee’ on its ass. Sure enough, as I approached the damn house, out from behind the house came the Doberman. It was not on a leash or chain, and the yard around the house was not fenced. Thus, the dog had free access to attack innocent passers-by without provocation. And attack me it did. When it was within two feet of me, I whipped out my nunchucks and yelled, “Woooooh!” In my best Bruce Lee impression. The dog hesitated for just a second, but that was all I needed. I drop-kicked that dog under the jaw and simultaneously swung and connected with my nunchucks and knocked that dog into the next county. It let out a yelp of pain and limped back to the house. At about the same time, the owner of the house came running out of the house screaming, “Hey you bastard. You hurt my dog. I’ll sue. I’ll sue. I yelled back, “No you won’t dipshit. Your damn dog wasn’t restrained and attacked me. All I did was defend myself. I am tired of your dog trying to tear me apart. I do not like Dobermans that attack me because I was chased and bitten by one as a kid. No sir. I do not like them one bit. I hate Dobermans that attack me. Enter Tobie. I was running down the road with Tobie and times were good. He didn’t accidentally on purpose trip me or outrun me then slow down. He just maintained a steady pace. He was a great running partner. It wasn’t all great, though. Tobie had a really bad habit. First, you have to understand that Tobie was well trained and therefore very protective of his owner, me. Sometimes, Tobie was too protective of me. For example, if a car was approaching us from the other lane, Tobie would force me off of the road and into the ditch in order to protect me from the perceived ‘threatening’ car, even though said car was clearly not a threat. The car would never be a threat because we ran on the shoulder of the road. But Tobie didn’t think about little details like that. In fact, he couldn’t be bothered with the details. In his mind, he was a hero. Issue him a cape folks. He was ‘Mighty Dog’ savior of poor little jogging soldiers everywhere. ‘Mighty Dog’ to the rescue. On a normal day that might be alright, but during the rainy season, there was always standing water in the ditch. So, when we went into the ditch and his feet got wet, it was acceptable. But when my feet got wet, my shoes filled with water, my socks got soaked, and my feet sloshed with every subsequent step. Slosh. Slosh. Slosh. It was so irritating and nerve-racking that I would have to stop running, remove my shoes, wring out my socks, and dump the excess water out of my shoes. I tried to explain it to him. I said, “Look Tobie, if we’re swimming, water is good. If we’re running, water is bad. Do you get that? Swimming, water good. Running, water bad.” Yeah. I didn’t think it sunk in. I didn’t think he got it at all because the very next time a car came by, back into the ditch I went. Very irritating habit. When we went by the problematic house with the other Doberman, another situation arose. Tobie was a clearly bigger more muscular dog than the other Doberman. When the other Doberman came charging out of his yard, Tobie was on him immediately. I had to pull him off before he killed or seriously injured the other dog. Then, I yanked out my nunchucks just in case. But it appeared I didn’t have to do that. It seemed that the other Doberman remembered me and took off running for his owner’s house. True to form, his owner came out yelling again, “I’m calling the cops on you this time buster because your dog attacked my dog without provocation.” I yelled back, “I think you got your wires crossed pal. Your dog was clearly out in the street when my dog came to my defense. It would seem your dog was the attacking dog. Are you sure you want to call the cops?” “You better get the hell out of here. I’ll be watching for you and that vicious Doberman you have. Wait. I thought you were afraid of Dobermans? What’s up with that?” “I think you misheard me the last time we spoke. You heard what you wanted to hear. What I said was that I hate Dobermans that attack me. I didn’t say I hate all Dobermans. Next time, take the damn corn cobs or potatoes or whatever the hell it is you’re growing in your ears out so you can hear properly. Then maybe you won’t misquote somebody. Have a nice day.” Tobie the ‘Mighty Dog’ had prevented another exercise in futility.
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