When we walk Boz in the neighborhood he causes a stir. All the local sentries come out to give him what fer and the hair on Boz's butt goes up. He's a lover, not a fighter.
I imagine if we could understand what dogs say it would be all single-syllable words and their sentences would be peppered with profanity. "You no come here! This my $%@# yard! You go! You go now! Go fast! You no come back!" They're just doing their job.
On the block behind us there's an area we call The Chihuahua Corridor. Long before he gets there Boz gets a mohawk going all the way down his back. Now Boz could kill a chihuahua with one chomp of his teeth. But with dogs, size really doesn't matter. It's all about confidence. When I stay home and John walks Boz, I know exactly when the two of them enter the Chihuahua Corridor.
This little guy may not look tough, and Boz's hair stays flat when we pass this house. But this guy's always got something to say: "This my $%@# yard! You go now! Wait! You come back here, you $(&# dog! I said come back here right now! You play?"