The Night My Neurotic Dog Discovered His Inner Warrior

An unexpected act of suburban heroism.

Tonight I let Brute out before bed like I always do.

We have a routine. He goes out the back door, does his business, comes back in, and resumes his demanding schedule of sleeping in soft places and being adored. I didn't even go outside with him.

Then I heard barking.

Not normal barking. The kind of barking that makes you stop what you're doing and think, Well, that can't be good.

A second later I heard him take off.

Now, if you know Brute, this is where the story gets confusing.

This is a dog who has lived a life of extraordinary privilege. He has never missed a meal, sleeps in climate-controlled comfort, and has an entire family dedicated to meeting his emotional needs.

He is afraid of sticks.

Not being hit with sticks.

Just... sticks.

Carry a large object through the house and he suddenly becomes a risk assessment specialist.

At the dog park, when he's had enough excitement, he hides under the picnic table. Not beside it. Not behind it. Under it. Like a kid calling "safe" during a game of tag. The photo above is evidence.

So when I heard him tearing across the yard like he was leading a cavalry charge, my first thought was not, Good for him.

My first thought was, Oh no. What happened?

I ran outside just in time to see him chasing two coyotes that had apparently been hiding in the evergreen bushes near our house.

Not one coyote.

Two.

And somehow the dog who once heard coyotes howl from a safe distance and practically dragged me home as a puppy had decided tonight was the night he was going to defend the kingdom.

Years ago, we were walking in the woods around dusk when a fire siren sounded in the distance. Almost immediately, the coyotes started howling.

Brute wanted absolutely no part of that situation.

I remember him trying to drag me home as if he had just received urgent information that the forest was no longer safe for civilized people.

Which is why watching him chase two actual coyotes tonight felt less like reality and more like a clerical error.

The whole thing lasted seconds. I yelled, he immediately turned around and came back, and the coyotes continued on their way.

Nobody got hurt.

But my heart took several years off my life.

The most insulting part is that Brute is now pouting because I yelled at him.

From his perspective, he successfully defended our territory from two intruders and received absolutely no gratitude for his service.

As far as he's concerned, he had a brief but glorious career as a suburban warrior.

As far as I'm concerned, I'd like him to return immediately to being afraid of sticks.