What are the best methods of self defense against a mugger?
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Read our latest “What Would You Do” fictional story and share your thoughts in the comments!
I rounded the last corner that led to my front door after a short walk around the block. Actually, this was an alleyway to the only apartment that an old retiree could afford. And, every night for the last two years, I limped through this neighborhood with my aging dog, Snappy. Of course, he wasn't really my dog, he was my wife Maddy's dog. We used to go on these walks together, but since she'd passed on, going on these walks is one of the ways that I can still feel close to her.
It was always her idea to go on these walks, and I pretended that I didn't want to go, just because I knew she enjoyed arguing. She would always say that, “We aren't going to live forever, ya know. We need to spend as much of our time together as we can. You just never know when one of us will slip on that banana peel.”
Unfortunately for me, she slipped on the banana peel first with that cancer she got.
She was always the pessimist. Correction, she called herself a realist. Either way, I loved her all the more for it. I never admitted it but I did always enjoy those walks with her. Now that she's gone, I can still feel her on these walks. What will I do when Snappy dies?
Oh, the stuff we would talk about. She would go on and on about the Yankees, and why they should trade this person for that person. And why the coach should be fired.
Hogwash! All of it. But it helped keep her world spinning to know all of that stuff, and I wouldn't have changed her for anything.
She grew up in the Big Apple, and I guess a part of the big city life never left her. Of course we met shortly after WWII was over when I was honorably discharged from the Navy. We were married within months. And, for some reason, we settled down here in Knoxville.[instagram url=https://www.instagram.com/p/BvUQLAOBj5s/ hidecaption=true width=625]
This neighborhood has gotten exponentially worse over the years, and I feel like there is a crackhead down every alley trying to sell whatever the day's hottest fix is.
As I walked Snappy down the alley that leads to our small apartment, I felt his body tighten through the leash. He was old and had a hard time walking these days, so he might have had a small twinge of pain course through his body.
My body wasn't much better these days, either. On the minimum, the doc said I needed a cane. Baloney! Instead, I carry a Smith & Wesson when I walk the streets. Can't be too safe, what with all of these crack heads running around.
Out of the blue, Snappy stopped dead in his tracks with hair raised and teeth showing. He produced a sound that I haven't heard since before Maddy died. A low, steady growl pierced my ears, and I realized that something was dreadfully wrong.
As I felt my own neck hairs beginning to stand at attention, I lifted my shirt up and out of the way, so I could reach my .38 special snub. And as I did a frantic, desperate voice came from the darkness of the alley.
“Give me your money and watch or I'll kill your dog and beat your ass to a bloody pulp.”
The longing voice sounded half human, half crow. It longed for its next fix. Something that I can't help with…
“I don't carry any money, and my watch is a cheaply made gift from my deceased wife. I will not give it to you,” I said in as firm a tone as I could muster. Truth be told, in my day, I was an ass kicker and a name taker. But now I'm 90 years old and can barely walk around the block once without being winded.
I heard his foot kick an empty glass bottle before I saw his body. He wore a tattered hoody sweatshirt that could have used a good scrubbing had it not looked as if it would fall apart in the washing machine. The hood sat lightly over his head, with the drawstrings at full length preventing me to see his face. I knew he could see mine, however, and that made me uneasy.
Snappy's growl continued, and would have sent any normal person away. But, this wasn't a normal person. It was at this instant, when I realized that this was going to be a ‘him or me' type of instance.
I gave him another once over look, and he produced a very large knife. At the sight of the knife, Snappy barked like I hadn't heard since he was just a young dog. He meant business, and I was happy to have him on my side. At the very least he would draw the attention of any onlookers. And hopefully, my would-be assailant would flee like the coward he is.
But he didn't.
With one swift motion, he took another step forward and kicked my dog in the jaw. I thought I heard the sound of teeth shattering as the top and bottom parts of his mouth collided with with each other. As my precious dog fell to the ground with a light whimper, I was filled with rage. Unfortunately, it did me no good, because he didn't stop with Snappy.
After he stopped to make sure my dog would not retaliate, he slammed into me like a defensive lineman. My body sliced through the air, and came to the ground like a sack of potatoes. It was a miracle that I wasn't knocked unconscious, which is likely what my attacker was going for.
My greedy lungs gasped for air, but none would enter. I swabbed the back of my head with the tips of my fingers, and they returned red and wet. I heard footsteps approaching, and he stopped right in front of my feet, peering at me. Finally, the much-needed oxygen began to make its way back into my body.
My crackhead attacker removed his hood, and opened his mouth to taunt me. When he did, my eyes saw teeth that were even more tattered than his clothes were…
“You shoulda just gave me what I wanted old man. None of this would have–“
Bang! I pulled my .38 and shot him in the leg. The man staggered, but didn't go down. What did I do wrong?
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