Barking then not barking

I heard the dog before I saw it, which is too often the way. It sounded angry, like someone just knocked over its dish of freshly chopped up babies. Then I saw it. Smooth coat shiny like satin stretched over taut muscle. Its hot breath inches from my legs in the time it took for mine to catch in my throat.

The neighbour guy yelled “get back here,” and the dog skittered back across the pavement to his master.

I yelled, “Your dog needs to be on a leash.”

He yelled, “He won’t fucking hurt you. Might lick you to death. He’s harmless.”

I walked across the driveway to yell close up.

“He needs to be on leash, or I call animal control.”

“I have enough fucking problems.”

“Then don’t add to them, get him on his leash.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t believe what I thought I heard. This would usually be just the beginning of an escalating pissing match. But he just gave in. We’ve yelled at each other before. His buddies park their beaters in my drive when they hang in his garage. He drops pallets of bricks for his never-ending house restoration on our lawn.

“Look, your dog doesn’t know me. I don’t know your dog. That’s why there’s a leash law.”

“He wouldn’t hurt you.”

I said, “I don’t know that.”

Then I figured out what to say.

“When I was about 8, a dog smaller than yours bit me. Part of me gets scared, ever since.”

“I get that. I was bit twice, both by little dogs. I fucking knew both of them. My friend’s dog, a big poodle took a chunk out of me.”

“Mostly not the dog’s fault. It’s usually the owner. They’re just being dogs. But that little kid in me still gets scared.”

“When I was a kid my mom and dad let me watch Cujo. After that, I thought every loose dog had rabies. Scared the shit out of me walking home from school.”

“That stuff stays with us, inside.”

“Sorry, man.” He turned away. “I got a lot going on right now. Don’t need anymore.”

“What’s going on?”

“Might lose this house. CAS problems. My ex is a crack head, and she’s calling them on me.”

“I’m sorry you have all that going on.”

He turned even further away. “Sometimes I think God doesn’t love me.”

“Sorry I yelled at you.”

He said, “I accept your apology.”