Ben Bresee thought that he had the meanest dog in town. Folks around Madera called it the homeliest hound that ever profaned civilization but readily acknowledged it as a champion fighter. Everywhere Ben went he puffed up with pride at the respect that was accorded his pet pup. Then one day the courageous cur and its pugnacious master were both brought down a peg or two. They were chased out of town by an irate little woman who hadn’t heard how tough they both were.
Bresee worked on the Adobe Ranch and came into Madera one day in the summer of 1909 to do a little business. He had a couple of horses he wanted to sell, so he set up shop on the corner of D Street and Yosemite Avenue, just down from the Palace Hotel.
Now as badly as Ben wanted to sell his horses, he wasn’t nearly so proud of his steeds as he was the dog that helped corral them. His pet bulldog kept the animals from wandering away while Ben was negotiating. They made a good pair — the man and the dog — and Ben figured they could withstand just about anything together.
Then along about noon, a country-bred canine accompanied by a lady in a buggy came breezing down Yosemite Avenue. The lady parked her rig on the north side of Yosemite Avenue, intending to do a little shopping at Tighe and Breyfogle’s. Before she could enter the store, however, her dog spotted Ben’s four footed companion, whose hair bristled on the back of his neck at the thought of an invasion of his territory there in downtown Madera by another pooch. For his part Ben just leaned back against the street post. He was sure he was about to be entertained.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the two dogs were at each other, and the ruckus drew a crowd, including a reporter from the Madera Mercury, who commented that if the spectators had had any advance notice of the combat there would no doubt have been a side bet or two. The smart money would have been placed on Ben Bresee’s bulldog.
With Ben nonchalantly looking on with confidence and the little lady calling her dog, the fur began to fly, and in less than a minute, Ben’s bulldog had its opponent on the ground howling for mercy.
Bresee, convinced that his dog had proved its worth, moved to defuse the situation by separating the two snarling adversaries. He yanked his dog and attempted to pull him away, but the bull held fast. Then he grabbed him by the hindlegs and tried to pull him away. Still the dog held on to its opponent. Finally he seized his dog’s jaws and endeavored to unlock them, all to no avail. Suddenly it dawned on everyone that this was going to most likely be a fight to the finish. They reckoned, however, without the courage of the little lady.
While Ben was thus occupied, he didn’t see the driver of the buggy step quickly back to her vehicle. He didn’t notice the country dog’s owner retrieve that umbrella with its sharp, pointed end. He didn’t see her advancing on the fracas until she was almost on top of him with what was almost a lethal weapon in her hands. There was determination in the woman’s eyes. If Ben couldn’t stop the fight, she could — in her own way.
The unidentified woman ignored the dog fight and directed her righteous indignation on Ben. Raining a series of well-aimed blows to his head with her umbrella, she drove her adversary to the sidewalk and then returned to the street to put a stop to the dogfight.
The last thing any one saw of Ben, he was running north on D Street with his dog right behind. Apparently when he deserted the fighting field, his four-footed gladiator decided to follow suit, and they didn’t return for the horses until the woman and her dog finished their business and headed back up Yosemite Avenue whence they had come. As the newsman reported later, trying to stop a dogfight was one thing; disarming a wrathful woman was quite another matter.