My father is small, thin and has never played sports. He fought only once in his life and then lost the fight. But adrenaline, maybe despair, responsibility for a child makes a person a monster (in a good sense).



This is a childhood case. I was 10 years old. He went from school. It is 50 meters from home. I see my father washing his car near the garage. There is silence around and suddenly this silence is broken, some thunder. I turned around and the German Shepherd was behind. The big. Apparently not playing. I only had time to drop my wallet and take a few steps. The animal hit me in a moment. I am screaming. The dog breaks my jacket and a few more moments and I will be taken away. I remember this picture as if it had happened yesterday. Father runs, one calos has landed, a cigarette in his mouth. He jumps on the dog and rolls it like a rugby player. Then they both jumped, but the four-legged did not give up and jumped on his father. As his father said, he was just lucky to grab the shepherd with one hand for the lower jaw, the other for the throat. I saw my father slapping the dog with his head, and then a slash and a suffocating reception went on. Father suffocated the dog. I saw how hard it was, but I was stupid and couldn’t help anything. My father suffocated the dog and, as nothing happened, ran to me and looked at me, although his hands were bloody and obviously very painful.



Then I understood what my father meant. Let even in his asset one fight for a lifetime and one defeat. For his child, he will break even a shepherd and sure not one.