"The more outre and grotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined."
Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles
A grotesque crime was committed in the Mt Eden shops recently; one that if ever solved would almost certainly lead to the death penalty.
My 5-year-old son and I were minding our own business, skateboarding through the village late one evening when a terrifying beast, wrangled by an abnormally small lady, attacked.
Its evil jaws darted out of the dark towards my little boy's face. Everything went slo-mo, a powerful parental instinct kicked in and without a thought for my own safety I shoved my inner thigh into the monster's fangs.
Ouch! The big a-hole of a dog bit me right through my pants. I felt its demon teeth grinding my left femoral triangle.
Buzz was left crying and I was left with painful bite marks millimetres from my testicles. Neither the lady nor her giant dog offered an apology.
It got me thinking about human to canine weight ratios.
I'm not talking dangerous breeds, that's another issue. I want to focus on a basic dog-to-owner size.
At around 5' 3" (1.6m) and 50kg, this woman shouldn't have been wrangling a Hercules Morse. I'd suggest a Cavalier King Charles spaniel, dachshund or Japanese spitz.
It's simple logic. Tyrion Lannister would have no trouble with a bichon frise, papillon or beagle but would struggle with a giant schnauzer.
Seven foot tall (2.13m) Pakistani fast-bowler Mohammad Irfan would look silly leading a pomeranian out on the town but fantastic with an Irish wolfhound, Scottish deerhound or dire wolf. Why would a small person want a massive dog anyway? The admin alone should put them off. A life of feeding, walking and waste management. You might as well get yourself a pet human.
If you really must live with a monster, don't take it down the shops.
If I wanted to I could snoop her and put her pet down. Luckily, as much as I hate her and her stupid beast, I would never go for the death penalty.
I understand what she is going through. She's fallen in love with the wrong-sized animal. It happened to me once.
As a child I loved a briard named Montague. He was 50kg when I was only 35kg. Jesus, he was hard to control.
The briard is an ancient French breed fiercely protective of its herd. I could wrestle Monty, hug him, kiss him, punch him and eat food from his plate. But anyone he didn't know was in for it.
One morning my visiting grandmother made the mistake of rising before the family. Monty retaliated by biting her on the forehead. She was 86 at the time. Luckily for my lovely doggie, she was a strong compassionate woman. The last thing she wanted was a dead family pet on the holiday agenda. So she insisted that we keep the vicious, unprovoked attack quiet.
A decision that was called into question two days later when Monty bit my sister's boyfriend.The idiot visited the house when we were out and paid the price.
He healed in time and Monty went on to bite many others in a long and happy life.
Deep down Monty was a good boy and a great friend. I still visit his grave sometimes.
The key point here is dog-to-owner size ratio. I was small and Monty was big. That's what caused most of the problems.
If you're Andre the Giant by all means take the Hound of the Baskervilles down the Mt Eden shops. Conversely, if you're 5' 3" get a Hairy Maclary or stay at home.
"I think that there are certain crimes ... which justify private revenge," said Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton.
As for you, dear lady dog owner, as I said, I will not be taking this attack to the authorities. However, I've done some detective work and I know where you go walkies. So don't be surprised if one day you look down and see me on my hands and knees viciously mauling your beast's upper femur with my rabid central incisors.