For as long as I can remember I have been afraid of dogs. That’s pretty normal right? I looked it up and sixty four percent of all Americans are afraid of dogs, so if this were a test I’d pass, but barely? In my mind that makes perfect sense. When I was little there was a dog up the street named Boo Boo. In my seven year old mind is name should have been Killer or Savage, but I guess Boo Boo is pretty blood curdling too. It was summer and I was like seven. My sister had dressed me up in my mom’s dress and shoes and made me come outside and walk to her friend Ashley’s house up the street so they could laugh at me basically. We made it to Ashley’s, they humiliated me and on our way home as I struggled with these damn heels and the dress and jewelry I heard something that made me turn around, there stood Boo Boo fangs out, slobber dripping from his mouth and he started running for us. My sister left me in her run but I got caught up in all the stuff I had on, I fell, he bit me, attached me and finally it was over. I don’t remember how or who helped me but I remember getting picked up and next thing I remember I’m in my bed at home. My sister and I never spoke of it again. And so began my fear of dogs.
