1000 words

I recently got a "challenge", of sorts, from my Canadian Girlfriend (who is actually American) Coco, of alphabete-noir.com, to write a short story around 100 words. Now, I'm a gamer, so I only accepted the challenge if the terms was that the story had to be EXACTLY 1000 words.

This is the (untitled) result. Yes, I hate it, but I do that with everything I do. You be the judge:

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I work in the city, but live in a small town, a walking distance from a train station. The rounding off of my day is walking to my home along a gravel path that cuts through an acre of trees, usually a pleasent way to wind down after the commute.
I was doing this one nice day, a warm day where the sun filtered through the foilage and children were followed home from school by their parents, talking, joking. I enjoy days like that.
A bend in the path was turned, and the beauty of the day was replaced with humanity at it's worst. A large grayish mongrel dog in a chain leach was being dragged along the path by a man, a large fellow with a beard. The dog, limping, obviously had a wounded paw on one foot and was struggling to keep up with the man. Once every few meters, the man would turn and shout at the dog, as if it was its fault. The dog would flinch and hobble closer to him, head held low.
I was raised in a family that had many dogs, and I instinctively understand them. This dog was truly sorry for not living up to the owner's expectations, and was submissive to a degree that suggested regular abuse.
The other people on the path was trying hard not to notice the pair, but the children's smiles were not to be seen and most grown-ups were suddenly busy tending to cell phones and looking at watches.
I followed the pair as they were going the same way as I, trying to keep my distance but failing, and eventually I was close enough to smell the alcohol vapours trailing the man. I was about to overtake them, when the dog fell on the ground, yelping, as it stepped on something sharp. The man turned and delivered the dog a swift kick in the chest. The dog let out a yelp of terror and pain, and tried to run away, but the chain leash held firmly combined with the wounded paw caused it to fall over, whimpering and gasping.
As mentioned I have an almost kin-like empathy with dogs, and I reacted instinctively, grabbed the chain, dropping my briefcase. I was actually stunned doing this, as I am hardly a man of spontaneus action, and the man on the other end of the leash was not someone I would normaly interfere with.
The man looked at me. I looked at him, baffled at my own actions now that reason kicked in. He slowly tilted his head a to an angle, as if asking me who I was to challenge him.
Then he hit me, full force, square in the face.

Time slowed as I fell backwards. I registered pain, but it was as if the pain belonged to some other man on a gravel path, who had been punched in the head. I had no control over that man's limbs and fell like a rag-doll, smacking the back of my head into the pebbles on the ground, and somewhere thinking that this would hurt if it happened to me.
The man over me also slowed as i fell, but as adrenaline took over, suddenly sped up and grabbed me by the hair and punched me again.
Now I was again fully aware that I was in danger, and, not unlike the dog, I must have yelped and tried to get away, but the man hit me like a metronome, and I now registered every punch as they came, sending signals of pain, terror, get away, get away, hide, find cover.
I must have succeded in shielding my head, because the man then started kicking me. In the kidneys, on my legs, everywhere exposed. I have no idea how long this went on, but I clearly had lost any control over my body. After a while I remember a sort of resignation, as if my mind was telling my body to stop hurting, you will die and it will be over, just relax.
That was when a shadow came between me and him. Something was now keeping the man busy. I let my primal brain move my limbs, scampering away into the underbush, a fleeing animal. I grabbed a tree and got up and looked to my assailant, who was now fighting his own dog, no longer a whipped underdog, but a predator, latched onto one arm, snarling.
The man spun around, trying to get the dog to let go, yelling at it, hitting it with the free hand. The dog let go and landed, quicky spinning towards the man, lifting the wounded paw, baring teeth and almost hissing a challenge.
The man looked at me. I looked at him. He moved towards me. The dog again moved between us. It was defending me. The man lashed out with a hand at the dog, but lacking the control of the leash, which he had dropped, made it easy for the dog to dodge.
During this I got a chance to note my surroundings. People had stopped, there was now a loose circle of people, some had cell phones up, recording.
The man had noticed this too, now. He backed up, stared with hate at them, the dog, me, then turned and walked away down the path. The crowd kept their distance and kept their electronic eyes on the man as he dissapered around the next bend.
The people there, put their cell phones away, the noteworthiness of the incident gone, and they too went along their way again. I was in pain, but I hobbled to my briefcase, picked it up. Then reconsidered and sat down, taking a deep breath and feeling the remainder of the adrenaline leave my body, replacing it with fatigue and a throbbing ache all over.
It was just me and the dog there now.
The dog turned it's head to me, bared its fangs, snarled, then went after its master.