Old Wives Tales
I'd always been told by my hard-as-nails older brother that if a dog went for your throat you should stick your hand down it's throat, grab it's tongue and twist. This was supposed to cause the dog immense pain and it's tongue would swell up and the dog would either die or break off it's attack. Now to a 13 year brought up on Bruce Lee films, this sounded like sound advice..

Move on a number of years...

Wavy lines.

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In the mid eighties I was living in Manchester and had acquired a fantastic dog called Legless (which is where my nickname comes from - where he got his from is another story for another day...). Anyway, one day I was lounging around my flat reading when Legless started to go berserk. He was barking and snarling and scratching at the front door. At the time I lived in Hulme in shitty deck access flats and muggers and burglars were constant problem. Legless had never behaved like this and my first thoughts were that somebody was trying to break in next door to my mates flat. So I opened the door intending to confront the bastards. On opening the door Legless shot out in a snarling fury.

Now Legless was a big dog. A cross between an Alsatian and a Husky. Jet black, huge head and jaws and an absolute bastard for fighting other dogs. It was the one habit I could never break him of.

So Legless shot out, followed closely by me, to see 2 young(about 10 year old) black girls being towed down the outside walkways by a bloody huge monster of a Rottweiler! (I mentioned the fact that these girls were black because, in my experience, black people really didn't like or get on with dogs - but I digress.) So Legless, never having lost a dog-fight before, launched himself at this monster intending to tear this interloper paw from paw.

Good move Leggy. The girls, predictably, screamed and let go of the lead and the battle (hah!) was on. Legless bounced off the side of the Rotty, his teeth hardly making an impression, and the Rottweiler had him. It's huge head pinned Legless to the ground and it started to worry him, trying to get a grip on his throat. Now at times like this you don't think, you just act. I could see my beloved dog about to get ripped apart before my eyes so I jumped in to save him. Grabbing Legless by the scruff of the neck, I hurled him backwards, away from the Rotty and, at the same time, put my foot on the attackers chest and shoved him backwards creating space between the two dogs with me in the middle. Legless, not being absolutely suicidal, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and slunk off back towards the flat leaving me facing the Rotty. The Rotty, pissed off at being denied it's prey, decided then to have me. With a snarl and a massive leap it launched itself towards my throat.


Now this was the moment I'd been waiting all my life for. A massive dog going for my throat. Armed with the knowledge from my older brother I stepped confidently forward to meet the aggressor. As it's jaws opened I thrust my open hand straight down it's throat ready to grab it's foul tongue and twist it until it screamed for mercy.

You can see what's coming next can't you?

The bloody monster must have thought it was it's birthday. It grabbed my hand and arm with glee and crunched into it. Fuck me it hurt! As it pulled backwards, it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me down the walkway, shaking it's head and growling. Bloody bastard. I was scared and I was angry and I didn't fancy being lunch. I pulled with all my strength and managed to drag my hand free, losing a fair amount of blood and gobbets of flesh, and, still lying on the floor, spun round so my feet were facing the Rotty and did what I should have done in the first place. I kicked the bastard as hard as I could right on the end of it's nose. With steel capped boots. It let out a might yelp and and, it's nose pissing blood, turned tail and fled down the walkway.

I got shakily to my feet and looked at my ruined hand. Chunks were missing and I great score marks where I'd dragged it free and it was already started to darken but at least I was still alive and relatively intact.

Footnote.
A few weeks later I ran into these two little girls again.

"How's your dog?" I asked them kindly.

"We don't have him any more! said one. "He got sick and couldn't poo and then he died"

Ha! That'll teach him. I had hoped to give him the shits with the bits of me he'd eaten but I'd settle for constipation....

I remain,as usual
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 2 Jun 2005, 10:25, Reply)