Clueless owners don't mix well with unleashed dogs

[Crossfire Bulldogs]

San Francisco Chronicle - Eileen Mitchell, Special to The Chronicle

Once again, there I was with Elvis, my greyhound, enjoying a stroll through a park. He is always leashed because even the best-behaved sight hounds might bolt if they happen to spy something interesting in, say, Seattle.

Around a bend, I saw two young men sitting on a bench. And then I saw their dog. An unleashed pit bull. And he was charging straight toward Elvis.

Before I tell you what happened, I should add that I think pit bulls have a bum reputation. I've known many sweet pit bulls, and this fella approaching us had a wagging tail. If dogs can smile, that's what he had on his big, chunky face. But I also knew how Elvis would react and was afraid of what that might trigger.

Pit bulls are descendents of dogs that were bred to fight other dogs. It's in their genes, just as it's in the genes of sight hounds, whose ancestors were bred to pursue moving objects. Indeed, the Web site of Bad Rap, a Bay Area pit bull rescue organization, cautions, "Never trust a pit bull not to fight."

Now readers of this column may recall that a few months ago, my dog was attacked by a shepherd-demon mix that yanked free from its owner. Elvis recovered from his minor wounds, but ever since then, he's been shy, fearful or aggressive toward other dogs. Whereas before he was gently curious, now he gets all Russell Crowe, lunging and growling at unfamiliar dogs. I realize it's a defense mechanism, which is why I always give strange dogs a wide berth. But this time, there was no chance.

And here was Elvis, lunging and barking at this dog whose big face was now just inches away. I was yelling for help as the dog mirrored the behavior of Elvis, lunging forward, woofing and snarling. Elvis was backed against a bush with nowhere to turn, and the pit bull was leaning in. Although it was just a few seconds, it felt like forever as I tried separating the two without getting bitten myself amid thrusting heads and gnashing teeth.

Finally, the two men appeared and pulled off their dog. To be honest, the pit bull looked more shaken up than any of us. The smile had disappeared from his friendly face and instead, he had this bewildered look that said, "What the heck just happened?" I was bewildered too: at the irresponsibility of someone who would keep his dog -- a breed known for potentially aggressive behavior -- unleashed in a public area.

I checked Elvis, who was trembling and muddied but otherwise OK. The two guys apologized profusely while reassuring me that their dog -- they were dog sitting, by the way -- was well behaved.

And I could see that he was. He had just trotted over for a little social tail sniffing and instead was greeted by a greyhound suffering from a canine version of post-traumatic stress disorder.

But that's my point. Even if an unleashed dog is well behaved, there is no way of predicting how a leashed dog might react when confronted with a sniffing stranger. And the leash isn't just for the protection of others but for the dog as well. An unleashed dog can run off and get lost. Stolen. Abused. Hit by a car. Attacked by another loose dog.

My neighbor has a Jack Russell terrier whom he refuses to leash, even though the dog bolts like a prisoner on death row every chance he gets. One day, from my window, I observed him chasing after his canine escape artist, who was weaving in and out of a busy four-way intersection. Fortunately, he caught the dog. This time.

Not that all unleashed dogs are problems. Another neighbor has two big, black, imposing Doberman pinschers that practically live, supervised but unleashed, in their unfenced front yard. These Dobes won't even blink without first looking to their guardians for approval. They are, however, the exception.

Poorly trained dogs at large are a big problem, judging from reader response to my April 22 column ("Maybe your dog behaves, but does its owner?"). I was deluged with stories about people and pets that were attacked and injured by free-roaming dogs. This is why many readers told me they carry protection during walks. Pepper spray, one guy uses. Another reader arms himself with a long "poking" stick. One explained why she carries a riding crop.

"Should a dog be loose and with no responsible human around, I am prepared to strike the offending dog on the muzzle and have done so," she wrote. "This is accompanied by strong verbal language, but the important issue is to break the dog's concentration on my dog. If I can get the other dog to look at me, the battle is won. If not, I strike the dog on the muzzle with the riding crop, which stings but does no real harm."

Ouch. And yet, after two close calls, the riding crop idea is starting to sound good. I resent being put in this position -- the thought of harming an animal under any circumstance makes me cringe.

Because I all love dogs, yes. But the thing is, I love my dog more.