Next thing I heard was a scream from my (then) 'cross-the-street neighbor. Rob was a typical Cantabrigian liberal, and I concluded (correctly, as it later turned out) that his angst was not triggered by the horror of my impending situation as the dog's desired meal, but rather at having to be face to face with a "real gun." (Later: "You mean you carry a gun, all the time; a real gun?" "Well, duh, what's the point of carrying a fake one?")
Rob's scream attracted the dog's attention. Apparently his hungry canine mind was still capable of divining that Rob, a chubby little thing, would be a far better meal than yours truly, so the dog changed course and headed across the street.
Now Rob is really screaming.
In a move that surprised even me at the time, I holstered the revolver and went in the house.