Invisible Fence

When I lived in Lake Havasu, I had this back pack I carried all my mugetike (Gear in Sezjeghnin). It's always something. My blue coat, the black back pack. Currently my man bag.

I think I liked the back pack best, although my man bag is more compartmentalized and things are readily accessible. The reason my back pack was my favorite is because I had either my Junglee knife or my K-Bar clipped to one of the straps. The K-Bar was more visible, for when I wanted to intimidate. The Junglee, being in a black ballistics sheath, blended in with the pack; you hardly knew it was there. It was good for traveling outside of Arizona, where knives aren't so legal.

One evening, as I was walking to the book store, I was nearly accosted by two large dogs. I had walked by a home at which the family was slouched on the porch, drinking beer. Nothing wrong with that. Except their dogs were on the porch as well. There were no chains, leashes, nor fences. Being dogs on their own turf, and their masters present; I being a stranger upon the dogs' "territory" (dogs don't understand our borders), they saw fit to attack.

The owners had this white-trash, smug look on their faces. I'd seen it plenty before: Anyone who travels via car or bicycle is inferior. They just sat there with smirks as their dogs worked themselves into a frenzy, climaxing in their charging me.

My response? I whipped out my K-Bar, crouched and lunged. You'd be amazed at how fast and far those fat bastards leaped to their dogs' defense.

No animals were hurt in the making of this memory. Neither dogs, white-trash, nor Creature.