My Father Fought A Dog Once

I tell stories about my life and people either don't believe me or they think I'm exaggerating. I think my childhood is boring in comparison to a lot of my friends who traveled around the world, were born in other countries, or had surgeries. Some of you had all of these. I've never had surgery and the furthest I ever went was San Francisco and Las Vegas. But I have had some weird shit happen in my life. Like the time my father fought our dog.

"Get 'em, daddy!"

That's me at 5 years of age screaming as my father fought our dog, Bruty. To understand how we got to the point where me and my brother are watching my father fight a dog you have to understand their backgrounds. Let's look at the stats.

My father isn't a big guy. He's about 5'6" and probably weighs around 185lbs or so. Not a huge dude but he's always been in shape. Even though he smokes a pack a day and drinks like a fish, he always managed to be pretty built. I know from personal experience that he can hit hard.

Bruty aka "Filthy Ass Mutt". We got this dog from my aunt in some sorta fucked up exchange. We traded our cool ass dog Prince for this beast that shit everywhere and was totally untrained. He was a big dog, too. When he stood on the fence he was close to 6'0" tall. Maybe a bit less. My kid memory may be exaggerating it a bit.

Okay, to the fight. Me and my brother were in the bedroom. We had a couple windows and one looked out to the backyard and one was to the driveway. My father was outside drunk and doing yard work when all of a sudden we heard my father yelling.

"Yah! Yah!"

It sounded like he was riding a horse or something. We run to the window and there my father is fighting with a dog. They are up against the fence just going at it. This was so ghetto it was ridiculous. They are rolling on the ground, Bruty bites the shit out of my father's arm. My brother is screaming his ass off.

"No! Stop!"

I'm just laughing and shouting.

"Get 'em, daddy!"

Finally they stop and Bruty walks to the backyard. My father wasn't finished. He starts throwing shovels, rakes, and whatever at the dog in the back of our garage in the backyard. Eventually he was exhausted and came back into the house.

His arm was bleeding from where he got bitten. He didn't go to the doctor or anything. He still has the marks on his arm, too. My mother will use any chance to bring this story up. For all the shit she can't remember she remembers this happening and will say something like "Remember the time that dog whipped your ass?"

The moral of this story is don't fight dogs. At least while you're drunk. On the other hand, I cant think of a time where unless you're drunk you'd be fighting a dog.