I learned a lesson about the futility of dealing with bullies when I was a kid.

Halloween, my sister and I were out trick-or-treating and we, like several other kids, were shot by a teenager with a pellet gun.

He had a little brother. I asked my father to let it go, but he was afraid some one's eye would be put out. He found the kid and called the cops to deal with it.

I had always gotten along with the little brother, but one day he challenged me to a fight. I could tell his heart wasn't in it. It was like some creep was putting him up to it. We both punched each other once and then were happy to back-off.

We avoided each other for the next couple of years. Then one day I got a call from the father. In a cold, snide way he claimed that my dog had tried to bite his son. I had never seen my dog be anything but friendly to everyone. He claimed that the dog had bit into the kid's winter coat. Later, I saw the kid's coat with a perfectly straight little cut, as if from scissors, that had been sewn-up.

We had to put my dog to sleep.