The Unspoken Question of My Integrity
How I confronted the beast
It was two in the morning when Tilda woke me up with the sound of her nails clicking against the floor. She was pacing and agitated. I assumed she had to pee, or maybe there was a cat or rodent prowling outside.
Tilda is our intrepid Norwich terrier. She’s more like a child than a dog. Tilda and I were holding down the fort while my wife was out of town.
We stepped outside under a bright moon. Looking out from the front door, my yard stretches left to right in a long rectangle enclosed on three sides by tall hedges. Sloping down to the right is a metal fence and a gate leading to the street and driveway. I had secured the gate with a piece of wire because the latch doesn’t work half the time.
Tilda sniffed around a while and did her business. As she was heading towards the door, a blur caught my eye down by the gate. Unbelievably, two dogs running at full speed suddenly bashed the gate open and streaked into the yard.
My brain switched into pure response mode. I sprinted across the yard. Tilda had run towards the dogs and then sought shelter under the hedge.
A large white dog loped around harmlessly like he was enjoying a run in the park. But a smaller dog — whom I would later learn was a pit bull — was…
