A little Sunday domestic drama. About 2:00 yesterday my dogs start barking at the back door, like they do a hundred times a day, so I let them out. Maybe 10 seconds later I hear LOTS of barking and my little terrier (Cocoa) squealing for her life. I look out the back door and see a pit bull has a grip on her neck (how did he get in my yard?). My large lab (Ginger) is there barking at the pit bull but not doing much else. She tried, good girl Ginger. I dash out the door and get behind the PB, grabbing his collar with my left hand (not really knowing what else to do at the moment) and I start punching him in the head as hard as I can with my right hand. (I quickly learn that pit bulls are made of muscle, bone, and possibly concrete). I hollered at my daughter to get a knife but she was a little freaked out, so no response there. PB still has a grip on Cocoa’s neck, and there is blood, so I get my right arm under his neck and start choking him out. After a few seconds (I guess, it was blur) the PB starts coughing and releases Cocoa. In retrospect I kind of wish I had continued this and just killed him, maybe, I don’t know, but I didn’t. There’s not a lot of rational thinking or planning going on at this point. Right at this time I notice to my left side that my neighbor (a Fire Dept Captain) has come over the fence and has his pistol drawn. To my right side the dog’s owner has come through the fence gate and into our back yard with another very large PB on a leash. I yelled at him to come get his f**king dog, which he does, taking him by the collar and getting control of him. Neighbor still has his pistol pointed in the vicinity of both of this dude’s dogs because damn what next? I yelled at PB Owner that his mutt might have just killed my dog and wtf is wrong with you, or something like that. I tell him to leash the damn thing and he says “I can’t put a leash on him with a gun pointed at him like that” but Neighbor says “yes you can” and holds his position like a bad *** Good Neighbor. PB Owner leashes the mutt. My daughter has Cocoa in the house by now, I have no idea on her status but all I want right now is to check on her and get her to a vet asap. PB Owner leaves and Neighbor follows the rest of us into the house. Cocoa is under our bed, panting heavily, but we don’t see any blood on the floor. That much is encouraging. I have calmed down enough now to notice that the last two fingers on my right hand are swollen and throbbing. I assume that punching a PB repeatedly in the head might have produced this uncomfortable result. My pinky looks like it came off Bob Stoops’ right hand. Good Daughter brings me ice and ibuprofen for the hand and a glass of Pinot Noir for general deal-with-it issues. We are in the kitchen talking and Neighbor’s wife now comes in the front door to check status, she is very kind and nice. She registers some minor concern at Neighbor for pulling his gun but this is quickly shut down. In today’s events, pistol = situational advantage. She ultimately agreed. My wife is finally getting some response from Cocoa as she slowly makes her way out from under the bed. Wife puts a few little pieces of lunch meat on the floor to see if Cocoa will take it. Not surprisingly, Ginger (our lab) comes in, looks at Cocoa, eats the lunch meat and leaves the room. *******. Cocoa drinks a little water and is wagging her tail a bit now. She’s still obviously in shock but she is moving her head and neck, and there is no visible blood anywhere. We still have no real clue on the extent of her injury. We find a nearby vet that’s open on Sunday, get Cocoa in the truck and head over there. We were very fortunate. Cocoa’s injury is minor, she didn’t even need stitches. It appears that PB just got hold of some skin but nothing more serious. Vet gave us some pain meds and an antibiotic and we go home. Cocoa ate a little dinner last night, appears to be doing really well, and we are thankful. She has been with us for nine years and yesterday I thought we might lose her. As of this morning Cocoa is enjoying her favorite UT blanket on her favorite chair, and Ginger is on my office futon recovering from her emotional (albeit unhelpful) involvement in the day’s activities. Life goes on and it is good.