I just don’t understand this. When I was like 7 years old there was a French bulldog that lived across the street. That little 17er would chase me anytime I was in the front yard, and I would go cry to my parents. My dad got so mad at me, he told me that “there’s only one part of that dog that can hurt you, and if you can’t figure out how to deal with it, the next time you come inside crying, you’re grounded.” Well I took those words to heart. The next day I was outside and the dog pulled its usual ********, barking and growling, running toward me. I didn’t flinch. As soon as he was within range, I launched the most picture perfect kick you’ve ever seen. Contacted him right underneath the chin. I looked like a 17ing Rockette. That dog literally did a back flip and ran home. Never bothered me again.