In this real-life Westie Wednesday drama, Abe is the West Highland Terrier usurper and Harry’s the hapless old guy:
Abe … managed to terrorize Harry every chance he got. The first few run-ins, Harry put up a fight, but soon it started to look like a mugging on the installment plan: Every time Harry tried to cross the room, Abe was on him like white on rice. When I tried to protect poor old Harry, Abe would turn on me with a deep and surprisingly menacing growl.
By the third day, I wasn’t sure who was more scared — me or Harry. Harry spent all his time shivering in his bed, and I was on the couch, curled up with a cold beer, which could be used both medicinally and, in a pinch, as a weapon.
On the fourth day, I noticed Abe on the floor in front of the couch. He looked so cute sitting there. Maybe I’d misjudged this poor little stray. Careful not to surprise him, I leaned down and softly called out his name.
Within a half-second, he was on me, climbing my chest, claws scraping my arms, sharp teeth snapping at rapid-fire velocity, aiming, I realized, at my jugular vein. I’m not really all that good at hand-to-hand combat, and ended up with a few nicks on my neck, and a huge circular bite mark on my jaw before I could pull the possessed furball off me.