The Attack of the Chihuahuas

We went for a walk tonight, in the beautifully warmish night.

As experienced walkers, Honey and I are pretty familiar with the canine denizens of the borough. We know about the big barker five houses down the road, the three medium frantic guards two blocks down, and the old guy who barks as a mere formality about halfway through our walk. As a rule, we are rarely surprised. We even know when the young golden retriever will gallop out of his driveway to greet Honey.

As we were walking tonight, we had our first surprise in a long while. About a third of our way in our walk, we heard ferocious barking. Two little bolts of lightning in the shape of Chihuahuas ran towards the little lady, showing that they were masters of their domain.

Honey, in her usual fashion, was entirely unfazed. She just looked at me for the lead on what to do. I proceeded to put myself between the mini-dogs and Honey, and as I waited for the owners to come fetch them, I petter Honey's flank and reminded her of what a good girl she was. The dogs, crazed with desires to protect their turf, were viciously barking, and I was afraid one of them little dogs would jump and try to bite Honey.

The owners called the Chihuahuas back, and they let Honey know that it was only because they had been called back that she didn't get her butt kicked. The little lady, again, was completely calm, sitting by my side, following my lead.

As we walked away, she kept looking back at me. We finally were about two houses away, and we stopped. I petter her, let her lick me a little, and told her she was the best girl in the world.