Atlas, The Attacking Airedale

When a neighbor offered Atlas to my boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird, he accepted the four-month-old Airedale puppy. Soon they became inseparable. For Atlas, a dog’s life was heaven. His luminous eyes shone in quizzical, mischievous anticipation, his mustache-framed mouth smiled permanently, and his wiry coat glowed like amber. He had rocket fuel energy and an anvil’s tolerance for pain. With Jaybird’s constant love and care, Atlas grew from puppy-size to pony-size, and had three modes of action: eat, sleep, attack. Anything that moved was prey. He especially loved attacking passing cars. On countless post-car chasing occasions he limped home, bleeding and missing divots of fur. Once he lost half an ear. Jaybird decided to attach a burlap bag to a tire on his pickup that would flip Atlas painfully and break the bad habit. After securing the bag to a hubcap, he drove by. Atlas chomped the bag, whirled in a furry, dusty blur, and galloped triumphantly away with a mouthful of burlap.

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