My Own Slice of Life about The Dog Bite
When I was young, I spent a lot of time at my Grandma’s house. My mom would help my Grandma take care of my Great Grandma and my sister and I would play. When it was nice outside, my sister and I would take full advantage of Grandma’s enormous yard.
My Grandma’s neighbor had a huge, black dog, from what I remember. There wasn’t a gate or a fence to stop that dog from entering her yard. I recall several occasions when my sister and I would run into the house if the dog was out in the yard next door.
On one particular day, my sister was inside or not there. I was kneeling on the ground bent over the stoop coloring alone…when it happened. I vividly remember feeling the dog’s presence and hearing the dog breathing. I knew he was close to me and I was immediately scared. I turned to look over my shoulder and there he was. He was so close that I could have reached out and touched him. And then it happened. For no reason at all, that dog bit my arm.
At least that is what I told my Mom and Grandma when I arrived safely in the kitchen. They greeted my screams with looks of panic and fear. They both began examining my arms and legs and asking questions that I was then forced to make up answers for. Through my tears, I told the story of how the dog bit my arm while I was coloring. I was pointing to part of my arm that was neither bitten nor marked in any way. They were looking closely at my said wound and exchanging confused glances. I just kept going. I went on and on about how he was staring at me when I turned around, growled, bit me, and then ran off back to his yard.
I don’t remember why I made up that story. The dog was really standing there behind me when I turned around. Honest, he was. But he never bit me. He never had a chance. I got up so fast and ran through the back door screaming and yelling that I probably scared him worse than he scared me.
One night, a few years ago, I told my husband-to-be that story after being slightly over served. I thought I was confessing my deepest, darkest secret that night. His expression told me otherwise. He looked at me like I was crazy and then asked why I would lie about a dog biting me especially when there wasn’t even a bite mark left on my arm. Then I just felt like maybe that secret was safer inside of my head. I don’t think I ever even told my mom that I made it up, even though she probably knows! It wasn’t the best told
I don’t know why I remember this story so well. I must have some residual guilt about lying to my Mom and my Grandma. How dare I scare them like that!
Well now my secret is out…again! And I haven’t had a single drink this time! Honest, I haven’t.