TERROR OUT OF THE MIST

    Getting up at 5:00 a.m. on a Sunday mornings to deliver newspapers was not my idea of fun, especially in the winter with temperatures dropping into the low teens. The worst part was alarm anticipation. I had a windup alarm clock that ticked loudly and could wake a hibernating grizzly. Sometimes I'd stay awake half the night trying to beat the obnoxious sound of the alarm and turn it off before it rang. Coat, scarf, hat and gloves. I was off, pumping my Schwinn the two miles to the Daily Herald office and loading up the heavy Sunday papers. At least I had my little Border Collie, Skosh, to keep me company.

Francis and Skosh, the Border Collie.

    The route was quiet, eerily quiet as I pumped along. It must have been the thick fog hovering close to the ground. I got off my bike to adjust the heavy canvas bag holding the newspapers. That's when I heard it. Something big was running toward us. I could hear its claws clacking on the pavement. The sound grew faster and closer. Suddenly leaping out of

the mist was the largest Boxer I had ever seen.

A monster of a dog! Without warning it attacked my little dog, locking its strong jaws tightly on the ruff of her neck and shaking her wildly.  It was killing my dog!

    I began kicking the boxer as hard as I could. I kicked its sides, I kicked its legs. I kicked between its legs. It didn't seem to notice. In desperation I grabbed its spiked collar and pulled with all my might. The beast dropped my dog and turned on me, sinking its sharp canines into my gloved hand. Then just as quickly it was bounding off through the fog looking for its next victim.

    It was quiet again except for the occasional whimper from Skosh as she gently licked my wounded hand. Despite my fears she seemed to be ok. In the dim light of an apartment building I removed the glove to examine my damaged hand. Blood poured out. One of the viscious dog's sharp teeth had penetrated through the leather glove, through the back of my hand, and exited my palm. It could have been worse, much worse! After the required shots, Skosh and I both recovered physically, but we were left with a bad case of Crazed Dog Contempt.