I had a dog like this once. I mean just like this. He was a white German Shepherd who was amazingly smart. One day as I was jogging along Lake Ponchartrain, three ankle biter dogs came up to us. Billy (wife named him Xavier) looked at me to ask permission to 'say hello' and I said so. After a minute of butt smelling petting (I did the petting), I said goodbye and we went on our way, but the little dogs followed. After a few unsuccessful attempts to shoo them away, Billy looked at me as if to say, 'I'll handle this,' as he stood sideways, blocking them from me. He then looked at me again as if to say, 'what are you sanding there for, go!' As my stunned feet obediently turned to go, he growled at the ankle biters if they tried to move around him. After I got about 100 yards away, I called, with an amazed voice, Billy, come! Then with lightning speed, he sprinted to catch up as I continued to run, leaving the ankle biters in the distance. 'Good dog! Gooood dog!,' I praised. I never looked at him the same since. I lost him in a custody battle with the ex-wife. He's the only thing I miss from that relationship.