Outsmarting a Fur Missile, Barely

So picture this–I’m out doing my DHL rounds, walking up to this house with a package in hand–when I hear the growl. Not just any growl. It was the kind of deep, soul-rattling sound that says, “I have waited my entire life to bite someone in a uniform.”

I glance to my right, and there he is—a dog wedged behind a wooden fence, nose jammed through the slats like a fuzzy little battering ram. His lips are pulled back in full snarl mode, flashing every one of his suspiciously well-maintained teeth like he just left the vet and wasn’t happy about it.

Now, I don’t usually back down from a fight, especially not one issued by a pint-sized fur missile with a Napoleon complex. So I reached into my pocket, pulled out a dog treat–standard issue for moments like these– and slid it through the fence like I was handling a live grenade. Smooth, calculated, diplomatic.

You’d think that’d settle things. It didn’t.

He snatched the treat with a growl that got even louder, then locked eyes with me–chewing it slowly like I was supposed to feel bad about existing. Message received.

So, I gently set the package down, backed away like I was leaving a bear cave, and said, “You win this round, buddy.”

I’m pretty sure he’s still mad at me for being born.