Story Sent in by Mel:
Adina and I had enjoyed a pleasant, first-date lunch and were taking a walk through a suburban neighborhood when we passed a fenced-in yard. A German Shepherd sat on the porch and watched us as we strolled by.
"Aww!" Adina cooed, "Who's a good dog? Who's a good dog? Aww."
The dog watched us but didn't move. Adina went on, "Here, boy! Here, boy! Come on! Come here!"
The dog (boy or girl, I wasn't sure) watched on, blinking. It otherwise didn't move.
Adina sighed, then rapped on the fence. "Come on, boy. Let's go. Mama doesn't have all day. Come on. Come here."
I cut in, "Maybe he's comfortable up there, in the shade."
Adina ignored me and walked into the yard through a gate. She strode toward the dog and said, "Here boy, here boy, here–"
The dog was on its feet and bolted for Adina. Adina screamed and ran back for the fence. I helped her over it as the dog snapped at her, missing her, likely, by inches.
Adina screamed expletives, pounded on the fence, and threw a nearby rock at the dog (and missed). She turned to me and shouted, "Well?"
"Aren't you going to do something? That animal almost killed me."
"What would you like me to do? Go in there to get killed, myself?"
She said, "Go in there to throttle it, or tell the owners at least."
I replied, "But you were kind of trespassing on their property."
She said, "And that excuses their animal's behavior? If you're too much of a pussy to do it, then I will."
"I don't think you should go back in there. Really."
The dog had been prowling close by the fence and didn't take its eyes off of us. I seriously thought that all parties involved, dog included, would be much happier if Adina and I just went on our way.
Adina, however, didn't see it that way, and she yelled at the dog again. "Get away! I'm coming in."
She entered the gate, and the dog ran at her again. Adina screamed, backed through the gate, fell backward, and I had to be the one to close the gate before the dog could make it to her.
Adina scrambled to her feet, screamed at the dog, and then ran down the road at a pace that told me that she didn't really want to be followed.
All I could do was turn to the barking dog, say, "Sorry about that," and walk on.
Story Sent in by Mel: