"It's not my dog I'm worried about," I told the guy whose two German Shepherds were harassing my 44-pound Aussie. He gave me a condescending smirk - the kind of smirk that in a more civilized era would have authorized me to smash his head against a nearby tree. Thirty seconds later, his dogs were yelping.
Amicus licks ice cream from a child's hand, and doesn't bark at people. One friend called him the mayor of San Francisco, as he's widely-recognized and adored. You cannot leave the house for a 10 minute walk without being stopped at least three times. He's acts like a prima donna.
Josh Duhamel and Fergie saw us hiking in Hollywood, and asked us to call him over. "We want a dog who looks like that. Can we meet him?" I called him over, but Amicus laughed, preferring the solace of shade, saying, "You come to me."
When unprovoked, he is gentle. At the dog park, he goes beta, rolling on his back and revealing his jugular. If another dog - large or small - runs after the ball I toss for him, he stops the chase. He is the most low-drama, coolest dog you'll meet. Unless you fuck with him.
He has two trigger points. No one gets to hover over him. When other dogs try humping him, he steps away kindly. Then she shows his teeth. Then he shows him gameness.
My ex was leaving her friend's house when a street person quickly approached her. Amicus immediately went after the would-be rapist, and then taught my ex a lesson.
"The homeless person quickly backed away, and I pulled Amicus away. But then Amicus went right back after the guy!"
In a three words, she captures what it means to be game. "He went back."
They say a man shouldn't get in between two dogs fighting, but I've done so at least a dozen times. I have to, as the only way to get Amicus to stop fighting is to pick up him and carry him away. If you pull him apart, he goes back. He always goes back.
My good friend has the kind of dog you see advertised in the Robb Report. When they met, this beast insisted on hovering over Amicus. We pulled the dogs apart. Then Amicus jumped away from me, and went back for more.
Objectively speaking, Amicus' move was stupid. There is no question my friend's dog would have mauled Amicus. Yet a game animal simply doesn't care. There's a dog in your face, you tried avoiding the conflict, and the dog is still there. It's time to move, and whatever happens, happens.
How many guys do you know who are game? You go to the club, and a guy almost cires himself to sleep because a girl won't talk to him. He gets rejected once, and he's done.
When men complain about not being able to meet women, I wonder how many times they actually go back for more, not giving a fuck about blows to their egos.