Scare My Dogs?? I’ll Get You For That

I pulled a knife and went looking for the creeps that did it

There was a seedy, all-night deli called Pick ‘N Pay on the corner of 87th street and Broadway in New York City. This was in the mid-to-late 1970s when the Upper West Side was slowly gentrifying, and still had pockets of dangerous geography.

I took my two pups, Miles and JoJo, to the corner and tied them up while I went in for a snack. 11 pm. Warm spring evening. The clientele was the usual assortment of night owls, lonely seniors, young couples, and other locals. This was the go-to at that hour, since nothing else was open in the neighborhood.

A couple of rowdy guys were at the cash register, and I was next. They were boisterous and loud, shoving each other, knocking things off the counter, and laughing about it. The cashier didn’t like them, and neither did I.

They grabbed their soda cans — or maybe beer? — and left.

While I was paying, I heard my dogs scream.

I raced outside. These jerks had shaken a can of a carbonated beverage and sprayed the dogs, frightening them. They were cowering, wet, and clearly afraid while the guys were laughing.

Furious, I yelled at them to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DOGS. They laughed and sauntered off, still rough-housing and practicing their bad-boy behavior.

I lived three blocks away. I ran the dogs home, dried them off quickly, grabbed a sturdy hunting knife, and went out looking for those two punks. I was livid. What’s that old expression about seeing red…?

My heart was pounding. Scaring my dogs is funny to you? Know what I’m going to do when I find you? Truthfully I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I had the blade out, and I was running along the wide sidewalks of Broadway. I was blind to everything but my desire to find those two guys. Probably quite the sight and lucky no one called the police — of course, this was the pre-cell phone era. And most of the phone booths were broken (homeless people and junkies savaged them for change).

First, I headed north, the direction they were going. Then I started scouring the dark side streets between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue. At that time, Amsterdam above 90th street was a no man’s land; drug deals on random corners, seedy bars, and street fighting. You just didn’t go there late at night unless you were looking for trouble.

And I was.

It makes you wonder about those moments in life with the potential to change everything dramatically. If I had stabbed these two punks, how would it have affected my life’s trajectory? Jail time and a criminal record instead of a ‘normal’ life? Difficulty in getting a job or finding a woman? A tendency towards violent reactivity, unleashed?

Fortunately, I didn’t find them, and some other kind of trouble didn’t find me.

And while I started carrying the knife on late-night walks — at least for a few weeks — I didn’t dwell on the incident, and I didn’t keep looking for those two perpetrators.

We all have protective urges when it comes to our loved ones — spouse, child, pet, it doesn’t matter. Caring is part of the social contract we make with each other. It’s when emotion is running hot that anger and impulse can drive right over common sense and turn both actor and target into victims.

Miles and JoJo lived good, happy lives, and nothing beyond fireworks ever scared them again. I made sure of that.