Curse of the mailman
My dad, who is now retired, served the United States Postal Service proudly for more than 20 years. It was his second uniformed government job, having proudly served in and retiring from the United States Army, a career he began just after high school.
And it's fair to say, I think, that in his second career he saw his fair share of dogs. Big, small, grouchy and nice.
It's also fair to say that he didn't trust any of them.
Don't get me wrong, my dad likes dogs. Little ones. The kind you could pick up if you really had to. But big ones -- the kind that could eat you if they haven't seen a meal in a day or two -- were not on his list of favorites. He carried the requisite can of mace, and knew which houses to approach with one finger on the trigger.
Trouble was, the trouble didn't stay at work. It followed him home.
My parents' neighbors have always been fans of rottweilers. And that may be part of the reason my dad's not a fan of the neighbors.
Their dog, aptly named Misery (may she rest in peace), was a known jailbreaker and certified mailman hater. She chased one truck over a half mile from her front door once, scaring the holy heck out of the poor sub who happened to catch that route that day.
So I don't know if my dad was necessarily surprised the day Misery jumped the six-foot tall fence, found him in the garage, and cornered him like he was lunch. Dad claimed Misery could smell his mailman-ness, if you will, and his fear.
Every time I see a rottweiler, I can't help but think of my dad in the garage, Misery bearing down on him. I wish I could remember the details of how the story ended. I can only say that my dad survived the incident unscathed -- physically.
I thought of this story again when I read Tuesday's Sherman's Lagoon (below).
And I pose the question: What exactly is it about mailmen that make them so worthy of hate by the entire canine community?
UPS men have the same problem. My husband was once attacked by two german shepherds simultaneously on his route, he ended up in the ER with a nasty bite wound to the hand. We own a sheperd/rott mix but to this day my husband is still wary of dogs on his rural delivery route. Instead of mace though he carries dog treats.
I have a co-worker who owned a large black labrador that could differentiate between postal carriers and all other occupations. Many years ago, I was at the co-worker's house, which was on a very pedestrian-friendly street in Urbana, in the summertime. The windows were open, and people walked by all the time. The dog did/said nothing, until a letter carrier was a half-block away. Then the dog became the most menacing creature I have ever personally seen. It was the weirdest transformation.
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