USPS workers are attacked by dogs every day. Here are the U.S. cities with the most bite attacks.

I love everything about your post. ♥️

Thank you!

How many dogs do they shoot?

Leave the dog, take the cannoli.

List looks light on cities with a large percentage of whites.

Middle of last century Cleveland had almost a million people in the city. Now it’s smaller than it was any time in the 20th century.

it took 28 days for my tax return to be delivered
Arizona to Ohio

My little dog hates all delivery people. And anyone who runs, skateboards, or walks quickly by the house.

Other than that, he’s a sweetheart.

After we lost our Border Collie the meter reader asked about her. Said she did NOT like him anywhere near the kids. She was a good dog and I appreciated hearing that about her. She never bit anybody tho.

Our mailman carries a big box of dog cookies in his truck.

All the dogs on his route know him and like him.

I told my daughter that when I get old and cranky I would get a chihuahua and name it Cujo. She didn’t get the reference. I showed her the movie trailer on youtube. She didn’t think it was funny, but I did.

When my dad retired from the USN, he moved back to his hometown in Massachusetts and purchased the family homestead on Main Street in my town.

The house next door to us was one of those known to everyone around town. It was inhabited by four men, all blood relatives, three brothers and their uncle.

They were The Adams Family to everyone in our little town.

It was a sad state, the house was run down. no furniture, front screen door hanging at a 30 degree angle by one bottom hinge, completely overgrown, and the guys living there were all under psychiatric care, one of them for violent schizophrenia. Kids all over were afraid of the house. (Note: My grandfather used to sleep with a club under his pillow...because of those guys.

But except for the one who had a giant scar all the way across his face and tiny disc-shaped glasses, his head protruding from a black trench coat buttoned all the way to the neck in the summer, the other guys were harmless, and I talked with them fairly often from our prospective yards.

The poor uncle was a man who had something give in his life. Thin, he would walk the streets of our town, his right hand pressed into the belt-line of his trousers because of a hernia he had. He would pick up bits of trash he saw. His story was that he had been a high level performer at MIT, and just cracked under the pressure. For decades, he had a dark, narrow shop in an old, narrow wooden front-to-back section in a block unit on Main Street. It was all things laid out on folding tables, gloves, flannel shirts, etc. I went in there once, to see if he had one of those old plaid woolen hats with the ear flaps, as I needed it for a costume party one Halloween. He closed the door behind me, and then silently followed me up and down the dim, dusty rows, bent at his traditional forward leaning angle, hands behind his back. It was unnerving. But he and my dad, whom he had lived next to for many years growing up, had some kind of bond. I have a great Thanksgiving story about him and my dad.

The two youngest of the brothers were somewhat personable and you could talk. But they did have odd behavior. The first time I met one of them (I was maybe sixteen) I was shooting hoops in my driveway, and he walked between the nearly 100 foot high blue spruce row of trees that bordered our entire house and came over to talk. He was a big, kind of well-natured roly-poly guy with a red beard and red hair.

On this day, he had these white splotches all over his face. I was trying to talk with him, but was distracted trying to figure out what the white blotches were. I asked him, and he said “Oh. It’s toothpaste. I put it on zits to make them go away.”

I have no doubt my mouth was just hanging open, but...he wasn’t embarrassed, so...I shrugged my shoulders and continued on.

Thing was, they had a dog, and for a while the dog terrorized me.

It would crouch somewhere in the overgrown bushes pressed up against the side of the house, and even when I was looking for him, he found a way to startle me and get a nip off at me with loud barking as I involuntarily ran away.

I generally didn’t have a fear of dogs, but this dog always caught me unawares and would startle me, so I was at an immediate disadvantage.

He was kind of like a collie mutt, with the shape of a collie but oddly, the colors of a Doberman or a Rottweiler.

This went on for about a year. I grew to hate that dog.

One day, he chased me into my yard. Enraged, l grabbed some branch from one of the two beautiful maple trees that our driveway went between. I flung it at the dog, and he ran away at full speed.

That was it. He was a bully. All bullies have weaknesses. His was the fear of being struck by a thrown object.

After that, if I saw him, all I had to do was pause and bend slightly as if I were going to grab an object off the ground, and he would run away.

I still remember the dog’s name was: “Grover”.

All these years later, I wonder what it must have been like for that dog, living in the house with those four bizarre men.

Reading responses, apparently your mail lady has company delivering dog treats. Cool!