Heard an interesting talk at church today, creating one of those inner visuals that will stick with me a long time. The guy likes dogs as much as the next person. But. He was in a foreign country and had a long walk back that night to his hotel; he decided to take the shortcut that took him along the pier, a rough area, it turned out.
He found himself approached by six mean-looking–not men but dogs, a hungry, feral pack, and they meant business. There, there, good doggy? Not so much.
He instinctively did what they teach kids to do here re mountain lions, which is to put your hands over your head and make lots of fierce noise. The dogs weren’t intimidated in the least and actually the growls and the threatening stances increased. They were a pack and they had meat in front of them and they and he knew it.
“I said the” (he hesitated, looking for the words to describe it) “shortest prayer in my life. Father help me.”
Immediately he heard, “10, 20 meters away,” the hiss of a cat on the top of a tall fence. The dogs wheeled away to chase their mortal enemy–and he was saved. And so, for that matter, was the cat by where it was as he escaped to be able to tell the tale.