Can you trustthe owner of anunfamiliar dog?

When a unfamiliar dog approaches, there's little choice but to go with the odds and assume the best. Maybe say some friendly words—offer your hand if you're really assuming the best—and try to move on.

Some dogs are too tiny to be menacing, and some mid- to big-sized ones are wagging their tails so exuberantly that you just know that they won't do anything worse than maybe leave a few paw prints on you.

Others are hard to read, in which case assuming the best means putting your faith in their owners that they wouldn't have allowed their dogs to be unleashed in public if they were dangerous. Some people place that trust blindly.

Laura and I pulled into a parking lot Saturday and noticed a big dog leaning out of the bed of an otherwise empty pickup. I'm sure my wife was thinking the same thing I was, that we'd give that truck a wide berth as we walked toward the store. Then two women walked unwaveringly past the back of the pickup, close enough that they'd have gotten a shower if the critter had chosen that moment to drool!

The next day we were jogging Pebble Beach when we approached a man, a boy and a dog at the ocean's edge. There's one other category for strange dogs: those that you're pretty sure would go after you if given the chance. This big critter seemed innocuous from a distance. In fact it was lying down. We didn't sense its potential hostility until we passed within about 20 feet. It arose, assumed an alert stance and seemed on the verge of charging us. The man noticed and twice issued harsh orders to "stay." I glanced back as we continued up the beach and saw that the man now had the dog leashed.

Dogs running free on the beach are often uplifting scenes. They chase sticks, birds and each other with wild abandon. Nevertheless, we jogged a little farther away from the rest of the canines encountered on that run, even though they seemed friendly from a distance and their owners were keeping track of them.

The owners. It all comes down to their assessment of whether their dogs can be trusted around strangers. If they can't be, even a leash might not be enough to safely venture out in public with them.

Back in January, Laura and I were exploring the wonders of Del Norte County on one of our first weekends here when we discovered the place also had teeth. We hiked some nearby groves of old-growth redwoods, then hit the bluffs of Point St. George intending to catch a Sunday sunset.

On one of the paths through the brush, an elderly man approached with his dog tethered to a head-leash that did nothing to limit its jaw mobility. "He's not friendly," the man warned, and we moved to one side of the path as he moved to the other. We almost made it past them when the dog snarled and sprang at Laura's backside. The man pulled back on the leash with all of his limited strength. The dog was looking to tear out a chunk of flesh, but only managed to inflict a scratch and a slight tear in her jeans.

The old man didn't seem like a bad guy. Perhaps he lived alone and felt he needed such a dog for home security. Plenty of people keep dogs for protection in their homes and when venturing out. Women walking or jogging by themselves obviously are more secure with four-legged companions, friendly or otherwise.

The owners know if their dogs are dangerous to strangers. They know if they're putting people at risk by unleashing their pets in public places or walking too close to other people even if their dogs are leashed.

Assuming the best as that strange dog approaches means assuming the best about their owners. These are not comfortable moments.