Crab Bites Dog

The dogs loved the beach almost as much or more than Curt did and he figured they all could use a bit of exercise and time out of the house in the fresh sea air, under the pleasantly warm afternoon sun. The German shepherd Mynos in particular was a certified beach fanatic mostly because it was one of the places she knew she was sure to get a good dose of her favorite activity, frisbee. She was nuts, insane really, about frisbee, and had been since she was old enough to run. Even the sight of a frisbee would cause her eyes to light up, her mouth to drop open in a pant, and her tail to waggle furiously in excitement and anticipation. Curt thought that if it were a propeller, she would fly hundreds of feet in the air given the intensity with which it swung back and forth, and up and down. The dog would get so worked up that Curt had to keep any frisbees hidden from sight until only the moment before he was ready to actually throw one, lest she become so excited and unruly as to be almost unmanageable.

In contrast to the hyperactive, frisbee loving German Shepherd Mynos, Mythos was the picture of reserve and calm. He was a big dog, very big. Anatolian shepherds, also known as Kangals, are one of the oldest, arguably the oldest, dog breed in the world, and are legendary for their size, strength, and power. They have the most powerful bite force of all dogs, ten times that of a pit bull, and can crush bone like candy with their powerful jaws. Curt had once seen Mythos reduce a two-foot pig femur to a powdery dust in under two minutes, with seemingly very little effort, so he knew that what was said about them was no hyperbole. Their size and strength served them well historically and they found uses in war, but mostly in times of peace, as livestock guardians protecting flocks of sheep on the Anatolian plains from large predatory cats and hyena. Having seen what Mythos was capable of, he knew it would be folly for any but the biggest and strongest of predators to test a Kangal in one-on-one combat, and by and large they do not, though they will sometimes work in packs to distract and harry individual Kangals while others sneak in behind to carry away their kills. Despite their size and strength, they are the epitome of gentle giants and generally have a friendly disposition. Mythos was wonderful with other people, especially children, and had a gentleness of character that was very out of sync with his appearance. Unfortunately, that appearance was so fearsome that most people's first instinct was to shy away, turn from him, or, if they had any, quickly hustle their children aside. Whenever this would happen and Mythos noticed, the look on the dog's face, and the puzzlement and hurt evident in his eyes, would cause Curt's heart to break. Mythos had a repertoire of facial expressions that was as expansive or more so than any human Curt knew. He had learned, or felt that he had learned, through years of close observation, to see the dogs mind, his emotions and thoughts, in real time. As they moved through his brain, they were projected onto his face like waves of water projecting on the surface of the ocean. Like ocean waves they were slippery and elastic and constantly ebbing and flowing, but also regular and repeating and they crashed upon Mythos' face just like the waves that crashed upon the beach.

Finally, Curt had gathered up what he needed for his day at the beach with the dogs, including three of Mynos' favorite frisbees, a small portable bowl for dog water, and his day pack which held water for both himself and the dogs. He leashed both animals and together they walked out of the house towards Curt's beat up but still (just barely) running truck. The two dogs piled in the back seat as soon as Curt opened the door, Mynos jumping right up and over the bigger Mythos' back in her excitement. Her tail was waggling furiously as was usual whenever a chance at frisbee was clearly in the near future. Mythos barely noticed the intrusion on his personal space and, in contrast to the excited Mynos, ambled slowly to the door, hopped up with what appeared to be a great effort and sat quietly waiting for Curt to get in the driver seat and start the truck. Mythos's expressive face was a good match for his acting abilities, which were always on full display wherever physical effort was concerned. He had a way of making the simplest of physical movements, like jumping up a mere six inches into the backseat of a car, seem like a Herculean task. Once Curt had tried to put a sled dog harness on Mythos thinking he would get him to help haul rocks up off of the beach, a task which required ascending a roughly 200 yard heavily inclined dirt hill. Curt liked to polish the beach rocks and use them for various creative projects around the house. After much struggling and cursing he finally managed to get the harness attached to the dog, added just a few rocks to the sled, maybe 20 lbs worth, and tried to lead Mythos up the hill, pulling this small load. Mythos took four steps, decided he did not like the job, and promptly sat down, staring at Curt with a look that said, over my dead body. He tried coaxing the dog with treats, commanding with raised voice, pulling, pushing, even demonstrated how to pull the sled himself. In the end he only managed to get Mythos to lie down in the dirt, a position from which he then refused to rise. His wife Anne called Mythos lazy and constantly berated the dog for it. She liked to say, mostly but not totally jokingly, that he was a working dog on welfare and would never work a day in his life. Despite the appropriate and amusing metaphor, in Curt's estimation his wife was only partly right. Mythos's laziness was not like that of the much maligned and stereotyped lazy welfare recipient who sits around his house rather than work because it easier than having to get up and go to a job at 8am each day. He just can't be bothered to put in the effort, because he lacks the will to do so. In contrast, Mythos's 'laziness' was all about will, his will being stronger than yours, or at least stronger than Curt's. Once he decided he was not going to do a thing, he was not going to do it, and he dared you to try and do something about it.

Curt had never much cared for frisbee. It was not challenging mentally or physically to throw or catch and he found it really rather boring. However, in spite of that, for reasons he never fully understood, he had always wanted a frisbee playing dog, and with Mynos his long-held dream had finally come to pass. In contrast to Mynos, who was a naturally gifted frisbee player from the first time he threw one in her general direction, Curt had never been very good at frisbee. Eventually he came to realize that was probably the real reason he did not like it very much, but after playing up to five times a week with the dog he had gotten quite skilled, at least at the throwing part. His frisbee catching skills never had a chance to develop since, no matter how much he might wish it, he could never quite figure out how to get Mynos to throw it back to him. Over time Curt had come to develop a feel for the throw and knew each time he released it exactly how far it would go, how high, or how low, or what direction. He knew how to use the wind to make it fly higher or further and to make catches more challenging for Mynos. But, no matter how hard he tried to make it for the dog, he was continually amazed at how little effort it seemed to take for her to run down just about any throw he could make. She loved to showboat too, especially for an audience. Whenever people or other dogs were around Mynos took her game to the next level and never failed to make a spectacular jumping and twisting catch four feet off the ground. He swore she would strut after making a particularly acrobatic catch, running back and forth showing that she had the frisbee in her powerful jaws to anyone who happened to be near, exactly like an NFL receiver showboating to the crowd after making a spectacular diving catch in the endzone.

They made the short drive to the beach without incident and the two dogs decamped from the car in a similar manner as they had entered. Mynos leaping over Mythos in her excitement, Mythos slowly, torturously, lumbering down from the seat to the ground. As was usual, neither dog had waited for a command from Curt before moving to exit, and he berated them both for their insolence, thinking Anne would be quite proud of his commitment to civil behavior. Neither dog seemed all that concerned by his tongue lashing and all three quickly forgot about the whole incident as Curt led them by their leashes down the long dirt ramp to the beach. In reality it was Mynos that led them all down the ramp, pulling at her leash excitedly. The beach was semi private and generally sparsely populated. Today was no exception and there was not another soul in sight. Curt let Mynos off her leash as soon as they reached the bottom of the ramp and she immediately began running in tight circles around him and Mythos, kicking up sand as she went. He knew he would have to throw the frisbee at least once before he could focus on releasing the big guy from his own leash so he quickly reached into his bag and let the frisbee fly as far as he could manage. He did not even look to see if Mynos made the catch, though almost certainly she did, before turning to unhook Mythos from his leash. Once free, Mythos ambled slowly away and sniffed absentmindedly at a recently dead bird, then slowly followed Curt as he walked away up the beach in the direction of his frisbee throw. He tossed the frisbee to Mynos twice more and she made two spectacular flying grabs, and had just let fly a third throw when he noticed the sudden change in the weather.

In the ten minutes Curt and his two dogs had been at the beach the weather had deteriorated rapidly. The temperature had dropped by at least five degrees and a dewy, thick mist had rolled in off the ocean which quickly enveloped the beach making visibility poor at best. The last frisbee Curt had released disappeared into the mist only moments after he made the long throw, and Mynos running full speed in its direction disappeared with it. A few seconds later Curt heard a loud yelp of pain from the direction Mynos had gone. Mythos had heard it too, and the dog emitted a growl so deep, fierce and vicious that it made his hairs stand on end. Even though he knew it had come from his best friend, at that moment, for just a split second, Curt feared for his own safety. Suddenly the big dog took off at full speed in the direction of Mynos. So fast was he that it caught Curt totally by surprise, and his brain barely had time to register the dog had begun to move before he too was lost in the mists. Mythos was always very protective of Mynos, as he was of Curt and Anne, but for his German Shepherd companion his protective instincts ran the deepest. If something, or heaven forbid, someone had hurt Mynos they were going to be in serious jeopardy. An angry Mythos was capable of just about anything, and it would take nothing less than an act of God to stop him. Once Curt had taken Mythos to the beach to chop some wood with his large 50 pound log splitting axe. As he strode toward the log he intended to split he had let his axe hang loosely by his side and it swung back and forth with some force as he walked. Unbeknownst to him Mythos had come in from behind him on the same side as the axe and the blunt head caught him square in the head at the apex of the backswing. Curt heard a loud thud and immediately knew what had happened. In his mind he imagined a bloodied Mythos on the ground perhaps missing an eye or worse. Instead he turned to find the dog sitting, staring at him with that same goofy look he always had, mouth open, tongue lolling about, tail wagging, like nothing had happened. His great relief to find the dog unhurt was only overshadowed by his new found respect for just how dangerous an animal Mythos really was.

He took off after Mythos, running as fast as he could. Before he made it no more than ten yards he heard a loud snap, then another, then a cracking sound, and a barely audible squeal or cry, then more snaps and cracks, and then even more. By the time he had made it twenty yards he must have heard at least 50 or maybe even a hundred of these snapping sounds and soft squealing noises. Through it all he could hear Mythos growling and snarling loudly. He finally reached the two dogs and saw what it was that had produced those sounds. Before him lay a field of dead crabs, more than dead, they had been ripped to shreds, torn asunder by the anger crazed Mythos. Crab legs and claws and shell parts were strewn everywhere. As he watched, stunned into silence, he saw one crab make a break for the water only to have Mythos catch it up into his huge powerful jaws and crunch down, then shake his head back and forth crazily, the crab disintegrating in his mouth as he chewed and shook. Saliva ran down the dog's mouth and flew in all directions. Mynos sat off to the side watching him, her head bowed, tail down between her legs. She shook like a leaf, and was as scared as he had ever seen her. He moved to her quickly and wrapped her up in his arms whispering to her that it was OK, that she was going to be OK, that she was a good dog. She looked at him, licked his face and relaxed some, but remained nervous. Curt spent a few more moments talking softly to Mynos and checking her for any injuries, thankfully not finding anything serious. Her nose bled slightly from one side where it appeared one of the crabs had snapped with a claw, likely when Mynos attempted to retrieve her frisbee. Once he was satisfied she was not hurt or in any immediate danger he looked over his shoulder, scanning the area where he had last seen Mythos. The huge dog had finally calmed down as there were no more crabs alive anywhere in sight. He looked at Curt and Mynos and ambled slowly over to them. When he got within ten feet or so Curt stood and walked toward him. Mythos looked at him directly in the eyes and Curt saw there something like sadness or guilt and a wish for forgiveness, but still tinged with an edge of anger and madness. It melted Curt's heart and he ran to Mythos hugging him tightly, exactly as he had done with Mynos only moments earlier. He dropped down to his knees and held the big dog's head in his hands, looked at him directly and said "It's ok boy. It's ok. Mynos is fine, and you are fine, it's time to go home." That seemed to bring some relief to the pain he saw in Mythos's expressive face, the sadness and anger ebbed away like the tide, and in its place returned the happy, goofy, strangely calm and meditative look that was his everyday face. That look calmed Curt's nerves as well, and he quietly and quickly attached leashes to both dogs, and hustled them away from the horrific scene of death and destruction that Mythos has created in his rage. He did not want to be anywhere near if anyone from the neighborhood or local beach patrol showed up and started asking questions. He had no idea exactly what he would say to explain it. They saw no one on their return trek to the truck, likely they had the poor weather to thank for that, and within minutes they were all packed into the truck on their way home.