When I was young we had a mixed breed dog named Spike. He was part Pitt bull dog and no one knows the other part. He was such a loyal dog, comforting and always by my side if I was out side.
My fondest memory is when I would get home from school after a long school bus ride and he would be waiting for me at the end of the long dirt driveway to walk me the rest of the way home. He would chase grasshoppers and jump over weeds, there really is no telling how long he had waited on me. I would lug all my books and my slide trombone down the driveway, about a quarter of a mile and Spike would see me to the house. I had a fear of someone being in the house, so I would unlock the door and Spike would race through the house and report back to me that all was clear. I would lug everything in the house and make us both a bologna sandwich which we ate while watching Gilligan’s Island.
But one afternoon a strange vehicle came chugging down the driveway. I didn’t recognize it and Spike was on high alert so I got the gun that was my favorite of my dad’s guns, a 1911 .45 automatic. I was raised to respect guns, but use them when needed. This seemed like an appropriate time to have one handy. The man parked and banged on the door. He kept asking me to open the door and I refused. He claimed he was there to look at an old truck we had for sale. I told him to look at it and leave, he said that he was supposed to leave his number with someone, I told him to leave it in the truck. But he had no pen or paper. Finally he convinced me that I needed to open the door. I warned him that I had a gun. All the while Spike’s hair was bristled up on his back and he was ready to attack.
Yep, I opened the door and the man saw the size of the gun and Spike took off chasing him, he had to dive into his truck’s window because he had no time to open the door. From there we had a nice conversation. He said he would call again when my dad was home and I agreed that would be best, all the while Spike is jumping up trying to get to him. I loved that dog.
The man ended up buying the old truck and Daddy was proud of the way I handled things. He heard the story from the man before hearing it from me. I brushed it off as nothing, but I was so scared I was shaking.
You could say Spike and I were in harmony on how to handle the man at the door. Attack first and ask questions later.