Fear of Dogs and Religious Faith

This morning, as I often do, I took our dog Kipper, who is neither large nor ferocious, to the hill near our house that somehow got the name of Bible Hill.  I let him wander around while I sit with a notebook and write about what's on my mind.  I was there at about 7:15.  The breeze was cool, and I had a lot to confide to the pages of my journal.
A few minutes after my arrival, a heavy Haredi woman and four large daughters lumbered up to the hill, saw the dog, and hesitated.  I assured them, the dog doesn't attack, he's my dog, you have nothing to worry about.  They proceeded, and, indeed, the dog had no interest in them.  He never got closer than fifty meters, though he did look in their direction. 
Before they had gone a third of the way on top of the hill, fear overwhelmed the girls, and they retreated, leaving the hill and its wonderful view of the Old City to us.
I was sorry that my dog spoiled their little outing, but I'm not responsible for their irrational fear of dogs. 
On the way home, I thought of what I should have said to them: "Do you think that God will let you be attacked by a dog?  Don't you have faith that He will protect you?  You obviously only believe in a God who punishes, not one who protects."  But by the time I thought of that, the women and her daughters had left Bible Hill, and so had Kipper and I.