One of the answers here reminded me of a strange case where karma took revenge on some vicious dogs.

I went to high school for three years in a farm-focused part of Houston, back before it became the urban sprawl we know today. Some of my neighbors kept chickens, one had a goat, that sort of thing. And pretty much everyone in our neck of the county had dogs. We had a cat ourselves when we lived in Dallas, but after the cat ran away and we moved to Houston, we realized if we were going to get a pet, it would have to be a dog. But this story is not about my dog.

About three houses down from us on the opposite side of the street, there were neighbors who owned a pair of mastiffs, big nasty brutes who could scare away just about anyone. The problem is that these dogs would get out every now and then and terrorize the neighborhood. People would keep their kids indoors to avoid any chance of running into those dogs, who always traveled together as they moved up and down the street. One day, they got hold of my neighbor’s Yorky - I was not there but witnesses said the little guy was just in their way and one of them grabbed him by the neck with his mouth and threw him left and right until his neck snapped. The poor neighbor called police, who said they could not do anything since the two dogs looked just like each other and they could only act on the one which actually killed her dog. So for several days after that, we lived in some degree of fear - the mastiffs got bolder and bolder, chasing kids and cars and forcing everyone to stay indoors for fear of them.

Now it happens we were far enough from even the suburbs that we got a lot of unusual animals passing through our neighborhood - skunks, possums, even the occasional armadillo and twice even a deer. There was also this very big cat, looked like a cross between a bobcat and a tabby on steroids - I figured a feral cat had some wildcat’s kittens. Anyway, this big ol’ cat liked to saunter into our neighborhood from time to time, sun itself on a patch of road where the trees didn’t cover so the sun came through, and the cat would raise its head and stare down cars like a feline version of Clint Eastwood in his prime. He never attacked any human that I knew about, but he did not hesitate to broadcast that he could take on anyone he felt like messing up. I felt his stare several times when I drove along our road.

So a few days after the mastiffs murdered the Yorky, that big old cat we called Horse was sunning himself on the road, and the two mastiffs walked up on him, growling at him on two sides. Horse lifted his head, slowly looked at each of them, then got up and walked off with the two mastiffs following.

I did not see either the big cat or the two mastiffs after that for several weeks.

But a couple months after the mastiffs confronted the big cat, old Horse sauntered back into the neighborhood and took his position in that sunny spot in the middle of the road, warily watching cars pass him on either side. He was missing an ear, his tail, and walked with a perceptible limp, but I never saw either of the two mastiffs again.