In high school (late 70s) I ran track. During the summer, I ran a lot. Along one of my courses there was a dog which would come out onto the sidewalk, chase me, and nip at my heels. One day the dog got too close so I abruptly stopped, spun around, and kicked it in the chest, lifting the beast off the ground. That dog never bothered me again.
There were a couple of Border. Ol lies that recognized the sound of a friend’s rig coming down the road....a roll-back tow truck. About the tenth time they charged it, one of them hot rolled hard by one of the low-slung tool boxes. He gained an appreciation for staying on the porch, after that, and the other dog was much less enthusiastic as a solo act.