One fine evening at about daylight savings time I decided to take my dog Nipper for a walk. I grabbed his leash and we were out the door. Nipper sniffed happily as his legs carried him along at a pace I could barely keep up with. We glided past the houses on our block and presently we arrived at the first stop on our appointed rounds.

Nipper sniffed the hydrant excitedly from top to bottom, inspecting every square millimeter of its surface with a dedication reserved for only the most important personal matters. He gave it the once over, and the twice over. After much deliberation, Nipper decided that all was in order. He lifted his leg and...

His personal business attended to, Nipper decided it was time to resume our walk.

We headed off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, Nipper bouncing along now happily free of his burden. We floated along past white picket fences, driveways and mailboxes. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary but as we neared the corner Nipper began straining at his leash with all his might. He began snarling and barking and a thick, white foam formed instantly around his savagely snapping jaws as I struggled to control the leash, which was thrashing around violently in my hands. I couldn't imagine what was making him so homicidally agitated, when from around the corner appeared the Postman. Without so much as a second's hesitation, Nipper lunged.

I was hauled face-first to the pavement and the leash exploded from my hands. There was a cyclone blur of man and beast and the sounds of frenzied gnashing teeth, tearing cloth and hideous, piercing screams. The postman made one desperate grab for his can of mace before his arm was wrenched from the socket and thrown, useless, into the street. Nipper swarmed over the postman like a school of piranhas, tearing huge chunks of flesh right from the bone, surrounded by a blizzard of blue from the shredded uniform. It was only a matter of seconds before the hapless postman was reduced to an unrecognizable mass of gently quivering pulp.

I pulled Nipper away from the carnage so we could continue our leisurely stroll.

Nipper trotted along triumphantly, his head held high, with me in tow. We zipped past immaculately clipped lawns and hedges, leaving a trail of frequent blood spots that glistened moistly. We had gone almost a block without incident but as we neared the next corner, Nipper began straining at his leash with all his might. He started snarling and barking and a thick, white foam formed instantly around his savagely snapping jaws as I struggled to control the leash, which was thrashing around violently in my hands. I couldn't imagine what was making him so homicidally agitated, when from around the corner appeared Mauler.

Now, Mauler was the biggest, meanest, toughest, most evil dog on the whole block. He was 100 percent muscle and bad disposition and more than a match for 10 or 15 Nippers. He sidled right up to Nipper, sniffed him, and stopped. He let out a low, throaty growl and his chops curled back to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth and powerful, bone-crushing jaws. Nipper was non-plussed. Without so much as a second's hesitation, Nipper lunged.

Fresh from his recent victory over the hapless postman, Nipper launched himself bodily straight at Mauler's snout. All 7-1/2 pounds of him landed with full force and snapping jaws right onto Mauler's nose. In no time at all, Nipper was tearing huge chunks of meat right from the bone. Mauler bellowed in agony as he was mauled and mangled from head to tail. The one-sided battle raged for only a few seconds as Mauler struggled unsuccessfully to escape but was hampered by the geysers of blood gushing from nearly every part of his rapidly diminishing body. It was only a matter of seconds before Mauler was reduced to an unrecognizable mass of crimson, pulsating mush.

As Nipper backed away from the carnage, who should suddenly appear from around the corner but Sheba?

She bumped and ground and strutted her stuff for all her pedigreed worth. Every part of her flounced seductively as she pranced down the sidewalk with her head held high. She breezed right by as if we weren't even there and stopped just a few feet away to preen. Nipper's interest was piqued. Without so much as an introductory sniff, Nipper lunged.

Exhausted from the rigors of the evening, Nipper decided it was time to call it a night. I grabbed his leash, attached it back onto his flea collar, turned him around in the direction of home and we started to walk back as the sun set scenically in the west.