Free Dog Named Leaf by Allen Anderson

After reading more about dominant dogs, we realized that because Leaf had been neutered late in life at a year old, he had already developed all the habits of a high-testosterone male.
    I felt his behavior was more complex than needing to be the guy on top, however. His small size, vulnerability, and fearfulness revved up his instincts to take care of himself. He couldn’t count on anyone else to do the job. So he made sure people and animals knew not to mess with him.

    At first, not knowing any better, we thought Leaf’s actions were cute. While out on walks, he’d jump up and place his two paws on the shoulders of even the bigger dogs. He’d stare into their faces and make sure they knew he was the absolute leader of any pack.
    “He is fearless,” Linda would say. But bigger dogs were not impressed with the self-appointed neighborhood leader.
    Determined to make Leaf better adjusted to people and other dogs, I took him to a small fenced-in dog park near our house. We arrived after five o’clock one evening, and about twenty dogs and people were already there.
This will be perfect,
I thought,
for helping Leaf find his social place among other dogs.
    “OK, boy, go play,” I said encouragingly. I opened the gate, and Leaf ran into the park with the gusto he showed while disrupting our radio interviews. He looked back at me to see if I’d entered the park with him. Then he proceeded to run and play with the bigger dogs.
    For a moment I thought we had found the place that would be his equalizer. Watching him guardedly, I felt like a nervous and protective dad. Will the other kids like him?
    He stood on his hind legs and placed his paws on the shoulders of every dog he met. The big dogs ignored him. Their attitude seemed to be “whatever.” Or they appeared to be mildly amused by his attempt to be alpha.
    Young Leaf’s swagger and attitude irritated a medium-size mixed-breed dog with white and brown markings. The dog had large, powerful jaws. Alpha Dog of the World did not intimidate or amuse “Jaws,” and he snarled at Leaf through bared teeth. This escalated into a growl that lasted more than a few seconds.
    “Leaf, come!” I yelled as I ran toward him. I had no doubt this dog could kill him. I grabbed Leaf with both hands and lifted him up over my head as high as I could.
    Jaws lunged at Leaf repeatedly. He jumped so high that we stood face-to-face. But I was of no interest to Jaws. His wild and angry eyes focused on Leaf.
    I held the little black ball of fur above my head. Jaws snarled and growled. His behavior made it clear that he’d do anything to hurt him.
    The dog’s person finally ran over to gain control. “You shouldn’t have brought your dog here,” he mumbled, as he snapped on Jaws’s leash. With a furious gesture he yanked and pulled his snarling dog out of the park.
    Although the perpetrator had left, I was so stunned by the dog’s viciousness that I was not about to put Leaf down on the ground. I carried him in my arms to the car and examined every inch of his body. “I don’t see anything, boy. Are you OK?” To my amazement Leaf looked normal. He wiggled his butt and wagged his stubby tail. I did a careful second examination. No wounds or bite marks.
    Instead of a frightened, trembling victim, Leaf appeared to be the exact opposite. He was like the cowboy in an old-time Western who swaggers away from a bar brawl, eager to claim he has kicked butt.
    “Leaf, you’re a brave boy!” I said and gave him a bear hug. Still not quite comfortable with human touch, he froze. Here I was, his savior, and he was ready to take me on too. My big embrace had sent him over the edge. I understood. Bear hugs would take time to get used to. Hugs from strangers would too.
    I silently prepared to take action whenever I saw a well-meaning person approach him with his or her arms outstretched heading straight for Leaf’s adorable face. In these circumstances, he almost always issued a warning growl. I’d