plumberroy:
I had just started hunting dove at the time with my autoloading 22 rimfire rifle. It was full (17 cartridges) and I was an excellent shot. These dogs were big and coal black and clearly one family. I still cannot figure their breed; they mighta been a mix of Rottweiler and, well, Weimeramer or something like that.

I used to shoot dove in the head when they landed in the tops of the Mesquite trees. I was near the property of a fellow who raised pigs for local markets. He fed them with the maize he grew. His problem was that he was growing about as many pounds of dove as he was hog. He contacted me through the Game Warden about taking care of his dove problem; they had an understanding – I could take the dove out of season and the ammo was free.

We ate a lot of dove during the two years we lived there. My Momma’s rule was that she would cook anything I brought home but I’d have to clean it. It didn’t take long for me to realize that a skinned dove wrapped with bacon and baked was a whole bunch easier and tastier than plucking and frying them.

erig007:
A pack of very hungry feral dogs are like a single animal, like a pride of lions, hyenas or the like. A starving predator is primally violent and a rock tossed at him by a future meal isn’t going to have much effect. These guys wanted to eat me because they were hungry enough to take their chances. If you had been there, I doubt you would have suggested that we throw rocks.

The event was nightmarish and still wakes me from time to time. It was unfortunate and sad. What I did that day was and remains painful to me. But --- I wasn't eaten and I'm still here.

Joe