So I have this little long-haired dachshund named Joe-Joe. I call him the hairy weiner. (A short-haired doxie is a weiner dog, so a long-haired much be a hairy one, right? Of course.) The problem with Joe is he thinks he's a Pit Bull.
And, speaking of bulls.... Well, let me backtrack a moment. Joe likes to run off if given the chance. Problem is, the new house sits on a road in the country with a speed limit of 55 mph. Not good for a dog with exceedingly stumpy legs measuring about 3" total.
So Joe got loose and darted off like a bat outta Hell. I'm screaming for him to get back (yes, there's a lot of screaming to be had in the country) and all of the sudden, he darts right under the barbed-wire fencing to the Longhorn Bulls.
Did you know that if a dog goes running and barking at a young, smaller calf that the big GIANT HORNED bulls will rush to defend it? Me either. Now I know though.
Joe, being a smart dog, felt his ass pucker all the way up the length of his long, stretched out dachshund body. Now Longhorns are tall, lanky things, so imagine their legs running after Mr. Three Inch Legs (that sounds like a title for a song...Hmm.)
The bulls have their heads down, aiming those long, long horns right at Mr. Stumpy who is high-tailing it as fast as he can, but it's really no contest. B tells me to go inside and make sure the kids don't walk out in time to see a Joe Kabob. I panicked just a bit at the visual and scurried inside.
Joe's saving grace ended up being his height, or lack thereof. The bulls' noses were longer than Joe's height so they couldn't get the horns down low enough. By the time B got out into the field (Of COURSE it was a rainy day), Joe was hunkered down in the dead grass, praying and whimpering to the doggy-gods. The horns were sliding a mere inch over his body. It was a close call, to say the least.
The bulls shooed off as B walked up to Joe, and from the window, I swear I saw Joe french B in thanks. B denies it.