I went to the park again today. It was great. The sun was shining and the wind was wafting gently through the long grasses. I met lots of other dogs. They were all nice.
Well, that’s a lie. The last one I met was not nice. He looked ok. Kinda sorta the same as me – size-wise anyway. He had short white hair, and a trustworthy face. More fool me.
I guess what fooled me was how eager he was to sniff me. I mean, I’m always eager to sniff other dogs, so I really thought it was a good omen. But it wasn’t. He was really quite aggressive in his sniffing, and then it happened.
He lunged forward suddenly, shouting something unintelligible that really didn’t sound nice. I mean, I heard at least three swear words, and I know I felt teeth – right there on the left side of my nose.
I squeaked loudly and ran away. Wait, no, I mean, I growled fiercely and barked right back in his big ugly face. I may even have used a couple of doggy swears of my own. (“Right back atcha, fella!“) I was just about to leap forward and restore my honour when my Dad bent down, picked me up and held me up to start checking all over my face.
“Um, what are you looking for?” I asked him.
“Holes,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, and that was the first time I thought about how close I’d come. That was when the shock kicked in, and I’ve been morose ever since. Why? Well, up until today I thought that everyone loved me. And now I’m devastated to learn that this isn’t so.
Why didn’t he love me? Was it something I did? Was it something I said? And what about the future? Should I be afraid of all dogs now?
These are such big questions. But they’re for another day.
For now I just have to go feel sorry for myself.