All the while the same low yet insistent sound of murder continued.
It ended quickly, but Corwin held on for a long minute, unmoving.
Then he dropped the dog, and turned to me.
The ears popped up in their airheaded way, and he bounded comically over to me
“Duhhhhh, how ya doin?” his look said.
[Moral: never underestimate a dog.]
His goofy ears flattened against his shovel of a skull. His great long neck angled low to the ground, leaving his huge head parallel and a few inches above the dirt. The tounge withdrew into the mouth whose lips curled, revealing teeth and jaws more befitting a T-rex than a dog. The front legs and paws splayed widely and his huge shoulder muscles bunched. His tail whipped slowly from side to side like an angry and venomous snake.
The Doberman growled dangerously.
Corwin did not growl. I swear it. I know a growl. A growl is a threat. This was not a threat. It wasn’t even a promise. This was a fact that issued from his throat. It was the eager fact of death both imminent and inevitable. It was the sound of murder.
I had never heard a sound like that before, and it’s difficult to describe. It’s a sound like an IRS audit, or the last tortured cry of the turbine engine on a jumbo jet before the plane crashes. It’s the sound of a bill due and payable when you’re already overdrawn.
It literally gave me goose bumps and loose bowels as I stood there. I knew if he had ever made that sound to a human being he would have had to have been destroyed.
Suddenly I understood his epic good nature and carefull clumsiness. Equipped as he was, a perfect machine for murder, Corwin could not afford to pose or play it tough. Any overture in that direction would have been overkill.Later I figured out that he shared something in common with every legitimate badass I’d ever known. He didn’t give a shit about his image. He knew he was deadly, and saw no reason to adertise the fact.
The other dog saw it too, and tried to back off without turning tail. It didn’t work. Corwin slid in low and fast.His front paw shot out and swept the front legs of the Doberman, knocking it off balance. Then the Corwin’s huge jaws were around the throat of the Doberman. His neck came off the ground, taking the Doberman with it. The muscles clenched and you could here bones snapping like crunching Broccoli.
[not my story, from a internet haunt I frequent:]
He had a great soul, and I came to think of him as “Great-Souled Corwin,” and admire his humanity (for lack of a better word.)
But, I thought of him as a lovable, but ultimately inept goof. A comic figure.
Corwin though, showed me differently, and we shared a defining moment.
I was walking around the property. Corwin was off galumphing about somewhere ahead.
There’s a wild dog problem in this area. People buy a dog, decide they don’t like it and set it free in the gamelands a mile away. Every late fall these dogs get hungry, lean, and mean, and they cause trouble with livestock and scare people. I’ve had five or six encounters in my time here, and I now do what my neighbors do when they encounter one. They shoot it.
This was my first fall though, and my first encounter. I was unarmed, and merely out for a walk.
It was a Doberman, and it had been shot in the side of the head at some point. It had a big infected wound, and it was pissed off and seemed inclined to take it out on me. I knew better than to run, but this dog had me scared. It would charge forward silently a few paces, stop and back up. It wasn’t barking, just growling quietly, and it felt like it was testing me out prior to a serious attack.
I was trying to make my way to a tree when Corwin showed up.
He came bounding over, toungue hanging out of his mouth, tripping over his own feet, and stopped dead when he and the Doberman simultaneously spied each other.
And then the dog I knew was gone. For the first and only time in my knowledge, Corwin became all business.
The Uh-Oh Baby!
Thoughts arrive like butterflies
Oh he don’t know
So he chases them away
Someday yet he’ll begin his life again
Weinstock…are you Woodstock’s cousin or something?
Large enough for a Neanderthal Rabbit to consume…
I had a dog which would do that every spring. I’d have enough hair to make another dog.