Authors: Vincent Wyckoff
“He’s a great dog,” the neighbor interjected. “I take him for walks to get him some exercise. He’s about the smartest dog I’ve ever met.”
Laura added, “Timber is so strong I can’t handle him alone on a leash. Pete is working to control him with voice commands.”
Pete talked about his experiences in training dogs. “I really don’t think Timber would hurt you,” he concluded.
I laughed. “If you only knew how many times I’ve heard that one.”
He tried to explain, and while he talked, I noticed how Laura looked at him. They were both single. It occurred to me that Pete wasn’t really doing anything to his car, just using it as a pretext to talk to his neighbor.
Out of habit I glanced at the house again. Detecting movement through the bank of living room windows, my senses jumped to high alert. Ears straining, I heard Timber’s muffled barks from inside. My heart began beating faster. I stepped aside, into the shade, to peer more intently through the windows at the other side of the yard. I could see the dog racing back and forth across the living room. Suddenly, he changed course and charged at the large, single-paned windows. When he leaped, he seemed to hang in mid air; then glass exploded, the screen flipped away, and Timber roared into the front yard.
Laura screamed, and I’m not too sure that I didn’t do the same. The huge dog was on us in seconds. I’ve never used my dog spray, and I don’t think it would have slowed Timber down anyway, but there wasn’t time for that now. I ducked behind the woman, swinging my satchel off my shoulder to protect myself.
Timber came in low and fast, banking tight around Laura’s legs. He almost knocked her down trying to get at me. Snarling, he lunged, and I whipped my mailbag between us just in time. He got a mouthful of the canvas bag and thrashed it from side to side while I desperately hung on to the shoulder strap. Mail flew everywhere. Timber’s teeth punctured the satchel, and it became lodged in his mouth. I truly had a tiger by the tail.
All the while, Laura screamed, “He’ll kill you! Oh, my God! He’ll kill you!” She was hysterical, and her frantic yelling only intensified the situation.
I grabbed the back of her shirt to keep her between the chomping teeth and me. Pete yelled Timber’s name, and for a split second the dog hesitated. I yanked the mailbag loose and prepared for the next assault.
When it came, the force of it startled all of us. Timber launched himself at me directly through Laura. She collapsed out of the way, knocked aside like a twig before a grizzly bear, and the snarling face lashed out at me. Staggering backwards, using the mailbag as a shield, I somehow avoided the snapping teeth.
Pete yelled again, and this time Timber stopped. When he turned to look at the neighbor, I ran for the street. He tried to come for me again, but Pete grabbed his collar, wrestled him to the ground, and with sheer strength and voice commands managed to hold him down.
I sat on the curb, shaking, gasping for breath. Laura lay on the lawn, sobbing. Mail was strewn across the yard, my mailbag lying in a heap near the sidewalk. Some of the neighbors had heard the racket and came out of their houses to see if we were all right. Pete sat on top of Timber, calming the dog with soft shushing sounds.
I had to report the incident. If Timber would launch himself right through a glass window, it wasn’t safe to deliver mail there anymore. My supervisor backed me up. For a while, Laura rented a post office box. Why she kept that crazy animal I’ll never know. From then on, when passing her house, I circled way out by the street.
Sometime later she moved. The house she bought was nearby, but far enough away to be off my route. I warned her new carrier about Timber. With the support of our supervisor, he insisted that she put a mailbox out by the street, and that seemed to solve the problem.
Years passed, and Timber grew old and frail. His carrier told me that the dog basked outside all day in the sunshine. He didn’t bark at intruders anymore; in fact, he seldom even woke up from his nap when the mailman arrived. In his old age he was no longer a threat.
On a whim I stopped by one Saturday. Timber lay at the front door. He heard me approaching, but I’m not too sure he could see me. I carried my mailbag as a shield, though, just in case.
He let me sit with him. I petted his wide, heavy brow, while recounting for him our little incident of ten or twelve years earlier. Although I’m sure he had no recollection of me, sitting with the old warrior helped me close the book on that harrowing experience and come to terms with the fear that had so overwhelmed me that day.
It was hard to believe that this docile animal had once tried to kill me. But then, I had witnessed many changes in the neighborhood during the years since Timber’s attack. Just a decade earlier, many of the residents had been retired, blue-collar, empty nesters. Now, young families were moving in, remodeling and updating the houses. There was more diversity. My daily passage through the neighborhood had been the one constant in all the changes.
Timber nestled his great head in my lap. We sat like that in the sunshine for a while longer. When I got up to leave, I left him with a dog biscuit and best wishes for a long and restful retirement.
Beware of Cat
was designed and typeset by Percolator Graphic Design in Minneapolis. The type is Kingfisher, designed by Jeremy Tankard. Printed by Thomson-Shore, Dexter, Michigan.