Quote:
Originally Posted by yorkietalkjilly  Wow! What a tall, dark & handsome Dobie, Martin! |
I had one, 'Bruno' back in 77, through to '82. He'd been brutalised in the South African diamond mines as a pack killer and I took him on during a time of great personal disruption to my life. I was told he was too soft to make a good assassin! That said, he was incredibly protective towards me right from the start when I look back on it? Especially when I was ambushed one night on the Lancashire moors by a gang of car jackers. One punched me savagely and then broke two ribs kicking me, while my glasses frames stood upright from where they'd been sunk in my face. I'd stopped to help what I mistakenly thought was a 'crash' at a particularly lonely spot halfway twixt Sheffield and Leeds in the 'Snake' pass at around 2am, on a frozen moonlit night.
Incredibly the dog did nothing and kept silent until one of them jumped into my vehicle, without checking what was on the back seat. The awful sounds of his howling as he held my assailant by the back of the neck with those huge teeth and his screams in accompaniment will live with me forever. His accomplices were terrified too and beat it fast. They left the bloodied thug cringing and whimpering as 'Bruno' maintained his neck hold, now face down to the road as he spilled out of the car, as I opened the back door.
Although we'd never even rehearsed this part of his training he did 'desist' when I called out
ophuo (offo) in Africanse. He then stood between, us his ears absolutely upright, the true embodiment of evil, his breath steaming, frightening but magnificent with the moonlight on his back. I was transfixed, it was like countenancing the very Hound of the Baskervilles!
I left this awful man crying and trembling like a baby, blood gushing from his neck, one finger almost severed, sobbing for pity and drove away without remorse. Later I had 12 stitches and many splinters from those fractured glasses taken from my cheek. The ribs took months of pain to mend and I only had one arm to start with anyway! I probably owe him my life, as this gang was homicidal on other occasions.
The uncanny thing was the way he'd remained silent in the blackness, coiled on the back seat of the Roller, I was using then, just waiting his opportunity to strike, more like an upstanding King Cobra than a canine - believe me those teeth are truly fearsome.
Bruno, well he lived with me and then my late wife after we married and was brilliant with both the Cats and all the kittens we had. He died in my arms following a massive stroke. The Vet thought he was about ten. My friend and I'll never forget him. RIP dear Bruno, my saviour.
(Wow sorry this has gone on bit, and forgive me for transgressing the threads story, but I've never recounted this before - too painful to recall I guess?)