A Clear and (non) Present Danger

I see him every day when I walk my greyhound, Elvis; a big, brawny, bowl-legged Boxer that greets us with angry, deep-chested growls as he slams his massive body against the fence. Each day I note, with just a hint of apprehension, that one of the planks in the fence is loose. The very plank that the Boxer targets, mind you.

No dummy, he.
But there's no way to avoid this house if I want to take Elvis to the park. And so, I walk my boy as quickly as his elderly legs will allow. Which, trust me, isn't fast enough for my comfort.
One day as we approached the house, my heart skipped a beat. There was no growling, no barking, no body slamming. Instead, I saw a gaping hole where the plank once was and noted the ominous absence of our nemesis, the Boxer. Uh oh.
Then I saw him--across the street on a neighbor's lawn. He was upright and alert, staring straight at me and Elvis. Panicked, I looked around for help, but the neighborhood was completely deserted. I had nothing to protect Elvis or myself, and doubted I could do much harm to the Boxer by pummeling him with the bag of poop I was carrying. I had no choice but to continue in the direction of the Boxer.
Slowly, I led Elvis forward.
And immediately, the Boxer reacted...by bolting in the opposite direction and hiding behind a hedge! I could see the whites of his eyes as he peeked at us through the branches. Then, when he heard his owner calling his name, he raced across the street and into her open arms.

Since that day, the fence has been repaired and the Boxer still greets me and Elvis with angry, deep-chested growls. But I'm no longer afraid and pay no attention. And after a few seconds the Boxer recognizes us and stops barking. He just stands there, watching us walk by. The jig is up.
We both know the truth.