Pulling his attention from the view, he checked his surroundings again since bears leaving hibernation tended to be irritable as were winter-skinny moose. He’d started wearing his bear spray belt.

Voices near the trail caught his attention.

“Yeah, just bought the damn dog. Bernese mountain and German shepherd mix. Its owner died, and the son didn’t want the mutt, so it was cheap. He said the brute fights like a demon, but, Jesus, look at it cringe. I was robbed.”

Another man spoke. “Good thing you brought him here to test him first, or you would’ve been fucking embarrassed at the fights.”

Two other voices joined in, agreeing.

“Let’s try this again,” one said. “Maybe it’ll do better this time.”

Bull slowed, an ugly feeling crawling up his spine. Fights?

“And go!” Growls and snarls mixed with shouts. “Get him, you fucking mutt. Attack!”

Oh hell, no. Not in my park. Not in my town.

In a slushy clearing, two dogs circled each other while several men watched.

One dog attacked, the other yelped, then the two were fighting for real.

Only four guys. He could probably take them, although it’d be nice to have one of his brothers at his back.

Moving closer, Bull eyed a pile of old buckets someone had forgotten last fall. The melting snow had revealed them—and left them filled them with water. That’ll work.

He picked up a bucket and tossed the icy water at the dogs.

Shocked, the mutts broke apart.

Still pissed off, Bull tossed the second bucket of water at the men.

“What the fuck!” The yells were satisfying. And then all four charged Bull.

Fine. He was warmed up and ready to fight.

He sidestepped the leading man. A hard punch to the guy’s gut folded him over, and he started puking. Jesus.

Retreating to keep from getting splattered, Bull tripped the second one, so he could concentrate on the third. Twisting to take the third’s punch on his shoulder, Bull hit his chin hard.

Laid him out cold.

The second man scrambled to his feet just in time to get Bull’s boot in his gut, leaving him curled up like an armadillo.

Good enough.

The last one was the asshole who’d bought a dog for the sole purpose of fighting it. The one who hadn’t even jumped into the brawl. The man’s eyes widened like he suddenly realized he was the only one standing, and he backpedaled rapidly.

“You wanted a fight,” Bull growled as he advanced. “Try doing it yourself, you cowardly bastard.”

Even as Bull slapped aside the man’s wimpy punch, his buddies abandoned ship, staggering away. One dog followed them. The other stood, paw in the air.

Seeing his friends fleeing, the cowardly owner yelled a protest.

Bull raised his fist and smiled. “Happens we like dogs here. Assholes, not so much.”