My grandmother had a small dog, I was like 3, they put us together. I pet it, it suddenly growled, I pulled back my hand and it bit me. So I grabbed it by the tail and bit it so hard it broke and was forever crooked thereafter.
I don’t remember the incident but that was the explanation for why the dog acted like Darth Vader had arrived when I stepped into the house.
His most advanced tactic was run under the bed and bark constantly until I’d leave.