Every time I rode (or walked) down a certain street, this out-of-control Golden Retriever would come running at me with teeth bared and growling. I'd have to dismount and go into a kung fu stance - ready to kick it's ribs into it's lungs. It was loose and never tied-up.

The owner, a middle-aged women, would often come running out and one day said; "It must be the color of your jacket! (uh huh...) Does it make you feel better to know that my sweet little Ginger has never bitten anyone?" I'd had enough; "Lady, if your dog is off your property and attacks someone, that person is fully within their legal rights to KILL your dog. Does it make YOU feel better to know that dog - when stewed - tastes remarkably like veal? And that I'm mighty fond of veal?!"

Next time I went down that road, there was sweet little Ginger - restrained to a tree like Hannibal Lector. Guess that lady had images of finding a Ginger Vest hanging on her doorknob.