For the lack of anything other than a slow Friday night on the Eid Al-Adha, your story reminds me of one of the varied times I had whilst walking our family Neapolitan Mastiff, Lady McBeast, around our Houston neighborhood some years ago, when my eldest was but a wee sprite of 7 and her sib was a wee'r sprite of but 2 summers age.

A bit of background, perhaps. Lady McBeast was my mastiff. Well, she allowed me to think that. She was an absolutely huge animal of over a meter height (with all her four paws planted firmly on Terra Firma), huge neck and shoulder muscles, and weighing in at (variably) between 110 and 130 kilos (seasonally).

Originally, these animals were bred, back in jolly ol' England, as "Sheriff's Dogs". They would capture (by clomping onto a wrist, or other appendage) miscreants and either hold them or drag them back to the local sheriff, for a dead poacher was no good (i.e., no income could be derived from a croaked poacher), but a live poacher could be taxed, punished, incarcerated, etc.

You get the general idea.

Well, one bright sunny day, I loaded wee sprite #2 into the wagon, with wee sprite #1 tagging along on her new 2 wheeler. I had Lady on her lead and was just proceeding to wander around the neighborhood, letting all miscreants and such know exactly where that "big fuckin' dog" and "that big, fuckin' geologist" lived.

Seems that at the end of the block, down by the "low rent" Fox & Jacobs tract homes, lived an assortment of ne'er do wells, loafers, noodlers, heel-airers, trailer trash and other assorted forms of marchers in the constant parade of human debris that characterizes any large city.

We usually avoided them at all costs. They tended to accept that and basically in the spirit of late 1980's interurban detente, each side kept to their own.

Until that foreordained day.

As we walked down the sidewalk, beast, master and 2 sibs; the clan of the cave bore that inhabited the other side of the street thought, in their Budweiser-fueled bravado, that it would be fun to taunt us with their chained and snarling Doberman.

Now, in Houston, there is a strict leash law. Well, there's also a strict seat-belt law. And a strict "open container" law. Yet, one can still get a cold 6-pack at any number of "drive-thru" package stores, so you can just imagine the priority that Houston's finest put on prosecuting idiots that didn't think too much of animal restraint laws.

Well, anyways, as we round the corner, these 4 idiots start in.

"Hey. Think your dog's tough?"

<Scan for appropriate response: 1. "Buzz off", 2. "Shaddup", 3. "Fuck you, assholes".>

I, at this time, opt for a snarl, glower and silence.

"Hey. I'll bet [hic] that dog isn't so tough."

"I wouldn't do that", I cautioned, surreptitiously easing the sap I always carry out of it's holster (Yes, after being shot in South America (which really stung) and being shelled in a hotel in Baku ["Why are they bombing us? We're already bombed."], I do carry concealed weapons; and, even better, I am trained to use them. I am also licensed to carry them, and other such devices. So there.)

"What'cha gonna do, old man?", they taunted.

"Old man?", I wondered. Oh, yes. Intellectually, I'm millennia beyond these mental midgets.

"Look, chuckles. Fair warning. Lady here is VERY protective. Do not try anything or I will not be responsible for the outcome. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED."

Well, that worked great.

All that did was incite them like kerosene thrown on a smoldering campfire. They shake, rattle and rouse the snarling cur of a Dobie they had, and pop the chain; letting it run, flat out, with teeth bared and tongue a slather, directly at my daughters.

Closer, closer, and faster it ran.

Snarling, yapping and howling a blue streak.

Closer.

Closer.

It lunges for my youngest, in the wagon...

And...

And...

Suddenly, it lets out a muffled "Merf".

As Lady pulls loose, blocks it's path, and in a flash of an instant snap, clomps her massive jaws around the Dobie's neck and applies *just* the right amount of pressure to let the Dobie know that it has, indeed, made a major fuck-up in it's estimation of the situation.

Lady stood stock still, with the Dobie between her teeth. No growling, no barking, no viciousness.

When you have the situation that well in hand, you don't have to make a single sound.

The trailer trash across the street first went white. Then they went red.

Then I mentioned to Lady one word: "Lunch".

The Dobie was still like a damp dishrag between her teeth as these four imbeciles ran over screaming about their dog.

"Look, you assholes. I fucking warned you, didn't I?"

"Make her let go or I'll..."

"'Or you'll what', asshole? One blink from me and your prize pup is a quick snack."

That gave them a certain bit of pause.

"Make her let go, man. Or we'll all do you..."

I pulled my sap, and calmly stated "OK, first your dog, then who's next? I can handle what Lady can't get to. Who wants to be a hero after your pup gets a snapped neck?"

I'm not sure whose whimpering was louder. The Dobie's or the four retards.

"Well, asshole. Who's first? You, brave boy? <casting a quick sideward glance> Hungry, Lady?"

"Umm...we didn't mean anything."

"The fuck you didn't. Don't feel too loud and proud now, do you?"

"Ah, um, we're sorry. We didn't mean anything.

"Fine. Let's all be good neighbors. You snap the chain on that dog of yours, and one false move and it's paralyzed for life and you're next. Got it?"

"Yessir. Sorry. Sir."

<snap> "Lady, release."

Lady drops the Dobie like 100 pounds of wet liver.

*SPLOP!*

It scampers around, tail between it's legs, behind the 4 miscreanteers.

"Now, you got your dog back in one piece. Still feeling frisky, guys?"

"Nossir. We're leaving."

"Just remember, guys. I know where you live. And so does Lady. Got that? She doesn't like you. And fact of the matter, neither do I. Got that?"

"Yessir. Sorrysir. Byesir."

The next time I saw these characters, I was taking Lady out for our evening constitutional, sans the kiddos.

And there they were. Sitting on the hood of their rusty Chevy, drinking beer and taunting their "ferocious" Dobie.

I walk by, ignoring the whole sordid milieu.

"Hey, you." I hear.

"Oh, shit. Here we go again...", I ponder.

"Yeah?"

"Care to join us in a beer? Just got some cold ones..."

Amazing what a little persuasion can do to some people...