Hi, My Name Is Pete; I'll Be Your Entree

Our bicycling club had a "CychoHash" ride this past Saturday to celebrate the visit of good friends Debra and Sandy from Colorado.  A CychoHash, like a regular Hash, is a trail laid across a portion of town in flour by one individual (the Hare), for a pack of Riders (Hounds) to figure out.  At the end of the trail will be beer: All in all, a most enjoyable way to spend a few hours.

I was the "Hare" in this instance, and thought I would share an experience that I believe might benefit runners and cyclists who regularly encounter Pit Bulls, as I do.  First of all, this was not the first time.  I've been accosted by Pit Bulls at least a couple times per year for the past 25 years, mostly as a cyclist, but so far, bite-free.  On this particular morning, I was marking trail through a neighborhood just west of Buffalo Bayou on the near northwest side of Houston.  I drive down what is labeled a Dead End street but which I hope will open up to the bayou.  As I approach the end of the street, a dog barks on my right.  Turning to look back over my shoulder, I can see it is a Pit Bull sitting on a porch.  Swiveling around to plot my escape route, sure enough, there on the porch on the opposite side of the street and directly across from Pit Bull #1 is another Pit Bull, also apparently unchained.
 

(Not the dog himself.  I didn't stick around for pix)

We'll call him Pit Bull #2.  He turns out to be the trouble maker but I don't know that yet.  At this particular moment it's a new experience: Pit Bulls in stereo.

My relatively slow rate of speed as I drive past ends up acting in my favor and neither of the dogs chases after me, as they most certainly would have had I been going, say, 18 miles per hour.  See, in my experience, Pit Bulls loooove to chase their prey before they attempt to eat it, and while their walnut-sized brains are limited in their capacity to process information, they know exactly how long it will take to make up any ground between them and you.  They also have a very expansive view on the whole concept of territory, which is the moral basis from which they rationalize their intent to bite human beings.  Near as I can tell, if they can see you, you're fair game, and the fact that they're not chasing after me tells me that they know something about my bayou escape route that I don't.

I finish driving all the way to the bayou - the dogs still keeping to their respective properties - and look around.  It is open both left and right, but unfortunately covered in some kind of tall grass, and it didn't reconnect with Buffalo Bayou, so it would end up taking me well out of my way.  That left me with two choices: 1) Do a long and slow diversion on the bayou and risk not having the trail done on time, or 2) Drive back down the side street and take my chances with the Pit Bulls.

Normally, the decision to simply run away would have been a no-brainer, but I did have one ace up my sleeve:  the bag full of flour I was using to mark trail.  This was comforting because in my years of cycling I had distressed many a Pit Bull with commonplace substances like water or Gatorade.  Gatorade in particular is not only surprisingly effective, but causes the Pit Bull to act like he's just been shot.  Pit Bulls are the animal kingdom's Drama Queens and very entertaining when inconvenienced, such as with the aforementioned squirt of liquid, or your stubborn insistence on riding away from them on your bike as fast as ever you can peddle, depriving them of the opportunity to catch you, sink their teeth into your calf or otherwise express themselves.  After all, what's the point of being a Pit Bull with front porch privileges if you never get to do anything with them?

Anyway, the flour was at hand, and I was sure it would work as a deterrent.  I also took some irrational comfort from the fact that the dogs were loose on their porches, intuiting from this that their owners had raised the non-lethal kind that would bark but otherwise not accost passers-by.  My only other concern was whether or not both dogs would rush me, and if so, would I have time to flour them both?  I'm thinking the best case scenario is if one of them takes the initiative, I deal with him first, then turn to the other.  Fortunately, this is how it plays out, with Pit Bull #2 - now on my right - rushing off his porch as I approach.  I had a brief moment to look to my left at Pit Bull #1, and to my relief saw that he was chained to his porch.  Curiously, though, he wasn't upset at all, only excited, as normal dogs typically are when humans are around and other dogs start kicking up a fuss.  What dominant mad-dog gene was this one deprived of, I thought, that made him so different from 95% of his murderous cousins?  Or is it that Pit Bulls - like children - crave limits and are simply misunderstood? 

I've only been bitten by one of the two, and it's an interesting notion that I will contemplate at greater length; just not right now.

I turn my attention back to #2, pointing my bike at him and yelling a bunch of nonsense including the command to "get back on your porch!"  This strategy fails to deter him in the slightest, as it has every other time I've been chased by Pit Bulls.  As he approaches, #2 starts doing that little dance Pit Bulls frequently do before they move in to bite, which is to bounce on their front paws as their rear legs propel them forward.  I'm not sure why they do this, other than to size you up and get their best estimate as to the number of your extremities are available to chomp, based on their vertical leap.  Suffice to say, the whole notion that Pits are doing the math on the probabilities is disturbing.

Apparently, he's seen what he needs to see, and all of a sudden makes a rush for my feet.  I lean over with the handful of flour, knowing from experience he will pull back just a bit if I aggress, and deliver an exquisite bloom of Gold Medal directly into his face.  As I expected, he was completely disoriented.  He also looks ridiculous.  He sneezed, and a puff of flour came out of his nose; he barked, and a puff of flour came out of his mouth; he shook his head, and a halo of flour came out of his ears.  And all the while as he is retreating to his porch, his bark expresses not so much rage but hurt disapprobation, as if he had been wronged and wouldn't somebody - say his owner - please come out and rectify the situation?

Pit Bull #1 across the street was no help; he still looked positively friendly, so #2 got up on his porch and stayed there, his face still a hilarious white mask compared to his otherwise uniformly tan exterior.  I pedaled back to the cross street and safety, but not before calling him a Nancy Boy.

I guess the moral of this story is that, while there are a lot of different Pit Bull Repellents - and arguably several that are much more portable and convenient - for effectiveness and the personal satisfaction of seeing a Pit Bull get his, you just can't beat a handful of Gold Medal baking flour.

Not that I'm expecting to see that listed as a use on the label anytime soon.