Yesterday, Fred and I had a busy day.
We needed to stop by Fred’s vet’s office … which is not close by.
(Fred is fine – no worries!)
While we were there I wanted to weigh Fred.
(He’s growing very tall this week. He’s been looking a little TOO skinny.)
A woman approached us.
She had a gigantic dog … a mix of *something really big*, american bull dog, and pitbull.
The dog had multiple metal spiked collars on in an effort to control/train it.
It was an all muscle, fully grown, very big, very strong, dog.
Fred is probably best described as a full-of-fluff, gentle, very mellow, teddy bear …
I would describe this other dog as a GIANT professional body builder/wrestler.
Its human wanted the dogs to meet.
Standing four feet away from each other was, apparently, not close enough for her.
The owner was very insistent and, repeatedly, told me how friendly her dog is “to every dog he meets.”
Now, I know some very nice pitbulls so I don’t dismiss a dog as being “mean” just because it’s a pitbull mix.
The woman/owner asked me if Fred was friendly.
“He’s a brand new puppy. He’s very friendly,” I replied.
(People often assume Fred is older than he is because he’s so big.)
She moved Monster Dog a foot closer and Monster Dog growled at Fred.
It was the meanest, most ferocious, growl I’ve ever heard come from any dog.
(Baring all it’s teeth!)
“Was that MY dog?” asked his owner.
And just then, Monster Dog LUNGED at Fred, while repeating the ferocious, teeth-baring, growl.
Monster Dog was clearly planning to rip Fred to shreds and swallow him, fluff and all, right there in the vet’s waiting room.
The woman jerked hard on her dog’s leash, gained control of him, and immediately took him outside.
I guess she was mistaken.
Her dog doesn’t like every dog he meets.
Throughout the encounter, Fred had stood still, at my side, and not made a peep.
A chihuahua was the only other dog in the waiting area.
The chihuahua had not been involved in the encounter, but it stood a few feet away – shaking like a leaf.
I glanced down at, seemingly, calm Fred.
Fred, apparently, had also felt stressed.
Fred had his very first drool.
It was the only sign of stress he showed.
I wiped his hanging drool string with a tissue, gave him a hug, and told him he was a good boy.
Fred wagged his tail at me, nuzzled into me, and I hugged him again.
And now, at fourteen and a half weeks old,
Fred knows not everyone in the world is nice.