Hey, I'm trying to run! Who let the dogs out?

I was out for a nice jog down a rural road. Trees, birds, clouds ... the perfect setting to get some miles in and enjoy the scenery around Seabeck, Wash.

As I left my sister's home, I passed the neighbor's house and waved to their dog named Wally, a tank-like, ferocious looking but really relaxed mastiff/rottweiler mix I had befriended the day before.

He watched, tongue hanging out, tail wagging, so I yelled "Hi Wally."

He barked back.

A few strides later, I heard another bark. Not behind me. This one, from the front.

I glanced down the road and came to a quick stop. There, perhaps 75 yards away, a Doberman pinscher, head down, was charging.

He did not look friendly. He did not look like he wanted to run with me. He looked like he wanted to eat me.

Survival mode kicked in.

For a split second, my feet froze. I thought about using the stand-very-still defense. I thought again. I broke my cardinal rule when faced with what could be a dangerous dog. I did the only thing that seemed logical.

I turned and ran ...

Let me make one thing clear before I go any further. I love dogs. Most dogs are super friendly. We have three at home, and one of them, Beethoven, is an occasional companion when I'm running a few miles.

But I don't love dogs that I don't know that chase me.

When you're a runner, it happens. It comes with the territory. No matter where you are, the city or the country, streets or roads, bridges or boardwalks, dogs will find you. Dogs will charge you. Cujo or Snots or Old Yeller may even bite you.

In more than three decades of running, I've had my share of scares. For example ....

n Joined by friends Don Witulski and Keith Erickson, we were running on the Centennial Trail, about a mile from Higgens Point, when we spotted a woman with a German shepherd. The dog spotted us, too, from about 50 yards away, and charged.

While there were three of us, he picked me out, circled, then lunged for my arm. His teeth caught the sleeve on my shirt and he jumped back, tearing it. Don and Keith yelled, and the dog turned and sprinted back toward its owner. I snapped, too. I chased the dog, shouted curse words, ran angrily up to the frightened owner and began screaming about a leash law, demanding to know her name so I could report her to police. I freaked out. As she began apologizing and explaining her dog had never done that before, I suddenly calmed down, took a breath, and found myself apologizing. A bit of bipolar in me, I guess. "Don't worry about it," I said.

The woman walked quickly away, sure she was dealing with a nut. I believe she was.

n I was running the streets of Seattle, when a rottweiler barreled out of a yard, teeth bared. Most dogs are easily fended off with a stick, a rock, or just pretending you have a stick or a rock. Just discourage them. Not this time. This dog snarled. He seemed to be Satan on four furry legs. He inched closer as I backed away and looked for help.

I got it.

A man opened the front door of the home and screamed for the dog to get back in the yard. It did. Not looking for trouble - the guy looked as big and mean as his dog - I jogged away, muttering quietly to myself.

n I rounded a bend on a road on Whidbey Island, Wash., and was met by a dinosaur-sized boxer. That itself wouldn't be too much to worry about, but the fact it was dragging a long chain linked to its collar was. We stared at each other. His giant brown eyes sized me up. He seemed to be daring me to pass him. My mama didn't raise no fool. I slowly backed away, around that bend, then ran. I glanced back, and my nemesis was watching. "Just keep going and don't come back," he seemed to say.

n There was the time, in my old stomping ground of Forks, Wash., I was running on a God-forbidden road in the middle of nowhere (why do I do these things) when two dogs raced out from a long driveway. One vicious dog is trouble. Two could kill you. I ran to a tree and pulled myself up into the branches. The dogs looked up, quickly lost interest, and trotted away.

Ha. Dumb dogs. I showed them.

What to do

I've had dogs chase me as their owner watched. I've had dogs charge me, as their owner watched. It's always the same. "Don't worry. He won't hurt you. He's nice." Maybe so, but I don't know that, so my initial reaction isn't to try and pet it.

Here's how I protect myself when facing a growling canine.

n Stop running. (Easily done)

n Don't show fear. (Easier said than done)

n Watch the dog but don't stare it down. It might take that as a challenge. (Same advice when dealing with a grizzly bear)

n If the owner is there, ask him or her to put it on a leash (Don't be surprised when they get defensive).

n Back up slowly if the dog advances.

n Don't scream, but do speak with a strong voice and tell it to back away.

n I have found that pretending to pick up a stick or rock sometimes deters dogs. Not always. Sometimes it agitates them. Forget this one.

n If you can, if you must, swallow your pride and climb a tree.

n Carry a treat (for the dog) or pepper spray (for the dog's owner).

Fleeing the Doberman

I hadn't run far from the advancing Doberman when I realized I couldn't beat it back to my sister's home. It would be on me in the next seconds.

So I made perhaps a risky, but what turned out to be a smart move: I ran for Wally, my large mastiff/rottreiler friend, and stood behind him. He grinned, slobbering happily, when the Doberman bolted between some bushes and into the yard, not far behind me. Wally's smile disappeared. The Doberman, I kid you not, skidded to a stop, stared at Wally for a second, barked, then turned and fled, tail between his legs. He wanted a part of me, but no part of my 120-pound bodyguard.

Victory was mine.

Later, I brought over treats for Wally, told his owner what happened, and thanked them both.

"Quite a good dog you've got there," I said.

On that day, he was my best friend.

Bill Buley is the city editor of the Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, ext. 2016, or bbuley@cdapress.com