Not today, though. Today was growling, snarling, barking, howling insanity in the back yard.
Now, I have to set this up for you:
Imagine the biggest German Shepherd you've ever seen.
Cross that with something that's mostly blonde, much stockier than a G.Shep, and equally as furry.
Add a healthy dose of Mellow.
Toss in some love for kitty-cats.
Slap on a couple of pounds of happy, add a schmear of totally unflappable, and take out all the ditzy, weird, spooky behavior that overbred dogs can have.
You'll end up with a mutt who, like Max, is normally the calmest, most Zen being on the planet. He barks, yes, but it's understood that he's not really barking at the postman; it's a formality on both their parts. The postman regularly comes over to the fence to scratch Max's ears. Likewise, he'll bark at dogs wandering past (and bay at his girlfriend the basset hound), but he would never growl at or bite your average dog that comes right up in his grill. He's mellow, you see. He's kind of a Southern-California type dog, taking each day as it comes and chilling out.
So, when he went absofrigginglutely batshit insane, I let him in. I figured there was something out there that I needed to be aware of, and better he's in the house than out of it.
Sure enough, the doorbell rang.
Max went straight to the door, ignoring my "back" and "sit-stay". He stood at the door, looking interested. This is normal. Ignoring "back" and "sit-stay" is not. I opened the door.
On the doorstep stood a clean-cut young man who was obviously there to sell me an alarm system, or offer one for free for a limited time only! or beg me to put his company's sign up in my front window.
Max stalked forward, ears up, hackles rising, legs stiff, normally-curly tail straight out behind him. There was a low, almost-sub-audible growl that I could feel but not quite hear coming out of his chest. The guy on the porch said nervously, "Uh...nevermindseeyoulatersorrytodisturbyou" and left as quickly as I've ever seen a person leave who was not actively being pursued by an unholy combination of fire ants, cicaida killers, and door-to-door evangelicals.
Max got some cheese. ("Cheese? I LOVE cheese! How 'bout some bay-cun too?") He's now lying calmly under a tree in the back yard, grooming his hind feet. All the doors and windows are locked.
Let it never be said that I don't know how to take a hint.