A couple of years ago while on a walk around my neighborhood, I was attacked by a pit bull, Lucy. She definitely started it: I wasn’t even talking to her at the time. I merely walked up alongside her and her aged master from behind as he stopped to do up his jacket on the sidewalk. I came away with ripped pants and two ominous holes in my sweatshirt, but other than a modest heroic scratch on my upper leg, miraculously, no blood was shed. (I discovered I can jump like a startled squirrel monkey in heat when properly motivated.) While the physical damage was minimal, the psychological impact has been a little more intense: I get very, very alert around pit bulls.

That is, until I met Bondi at the park by our home last week.

Bondi can fly.

Bondi can also balance at any given moment on her two front paws with her patent-pending gyroscopic-tail-antennae-device. (I suspect she also receives “borrowed” XM-radio signal with that thing.)

Note the incredibly buff shoulder muscles on this poochette. This was a critical aspect of Bondi Therapy for me as it validated that, yes, yes indeed… this is a breed that could shred pants, sweatshirts, and tender necks willy nilly, should she take a mind.

When one can see veins popping on an unleashed pit bull like a testosterone-super-charged gym rat, you can be excused for a little sweat on the upper lip. The reality was, though, that Bondi didn’t seem even remotely inclined to shred anything, much less anything to which I was personally attached. What she REALLY had in mind was for her owner to throw the pink thing.

And that’s when I noticed how beautiful she was.

Rick was on the business end of our new D90, and with his considerable experience playing catch with a talented pooch, he had the timing down perfectly. This left me free to slip quietly behind him, relax, and observe.

And this is what I observed: Bondi could NOT CARE LESS about me or my neck. Let me tell you: in close proximity to a breed that has scared the bee-jeebers out of you, the very best situation to hope for is to find yourself effectively invisible.

Bondi loves her skeet launcher.  Bondi loves the pink skeet thing, and …

… Bondi loves to fly.

I hope to meet Bondi again some day.

Any dog who smiles this profoundly and plays so hard she has grass stains on her elbows has to be worth another encounter, regardless of mis-behaved relatives… oui?

And is it coincidence that these are the next two books on my night stand?