The bigger, sinister one, the darker of the pair, looked back over his shoulder and grumbled something to the other one.  The other glared balefully at me. At first, the big guy didn’t even acknowledge I was there, as he tore at the parcel. They were both big, ugly, mean inner city toughs, hardened by life on the street.  They were tearing open their newfound cache and they were not about to share it with me, their little brown brother.  Their unintelligible, low-pitched mutterings and rumblings sounded ominous. 

They turned, glowering and scowling.  I knew I was in trouble; an attack was coming and soon.  Stiff legged; they slowly advanced from each side cutting off any avenue of escape.  I began a slow and deliberate retreat.  My Mexican heritage prevented me from understanding their every word but their looks and body language were unmistakable.  I was going to get hurt; and soon; and badly.  I was in serious trouble, with no way out.  As I backed away, looking desperately for an escape route, their menacing, ominous rumblings grew even louder and more threatening.  I began to whimper.  I couldn’t help it.  Somebody please, help.  There was no one.  Not only were they not going to share the treasure, they were going to hurt me.  The classic fight or flight confrontation was about to occur and there was little doubt that they were going to fight.  I just wished I could carry out the other half of the aphorism; flight.  But I was cornered.  I’d backed into the alley, closed at the other end, a cul-de-sac.  I was trapped.  They crouched, preparing to attack.  Terrified, cornered and about to be assaulted by the two toughs, I whimpered and lost control.  A flood of warm urine splashed on the pavement as my legs buckled and I assumed a fetal curl.  I closed my eyes and prayed.

Twitching, I awoke with a start, my heart racing.  I was panting.

A Chihuahua is no match for a pair of Rottweillers.

Hey, dogs dream too.