May not be suitable
Long long ago in the Wild Wild West.
The year, back in the day.
The place, Sin City and Pitbull Haven. More specifically our front door.
Generally America has had the attitude that we should take the war to their front door. Unfortunately on this fateful Saturday morning the war came to us.
Something crashed against our front screen door and mom cried out for dad. I ran to the entry way and saw that a mass of dogs had partially come through the lower screen door aluminum panel and mom was pushing the panel back.
I ran out the back door and found a steel fence post on my way through the side gate. Two pitbulls had our German shepherd down and had dragged him to the middle of the driveway. They were near the middle of the closed garage door.
One had T-man by the throat. The other was attacking the rear. The first hasty blow hit the back of the head and stopped with a thud on the back. None of the dogs were growling or making any vocal noises at this time. There was no reaction to the first blow, nothing. It was so unexpected it was startling. Adrenalin was screaming through my veins. I was on a mission.
The only sound was the labored breathing of the pitbulls as they adjusted their grip attempting to tear through the thick German Shepard coat.
I knew the danger of engaging pit bulls in combat. Back then their deadly attacks on children was on the rise. The accounts were in the papers of muscle tissue torn from faces and limbs. But something in me snapped. The next blow was carefully calculated and landed squarely on the skull. Wham! Thud!
The dog on T-man's throat, The dog getting hit, let go, stood up, and faced me. This was it. My arms and legs went numb. We locked eyes. The steel pipe was already raised, but it went back a few more inches for the maximum force.
The deadly canine turned and trotted off down the street. Is there a moral to this half told story? Leave more suitable weapons lying around?
Though mortally wounded, the retreat was silent, unhurried and composed.
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