They Are More Afraid of You Honey

Although I would like to think my children will never encounter any pain, fear, or harm; I know it is a ridiculous idea.  So rather than shelter them and have them live in a bubble, I will just do what I can to equip them with the necessary copping skills to recover from these instances.  I want my boys to have a healthy respect for certain things but not be afraid to experience new things.  If they don't like it they don't have to do it again; I just do not want them to have regrets.  Little Man is going through a fearful stage.  The dark.  Bugs.  Some dogs.  I am not a fan of some of the same stuff that concerns him but what do I do?  I grit my teeth and show him there is nothing to fear but fear itself!  There is one thing though, that can send me straight to the fetal position.  German Shepherd dogs.  I admit I am not a dog person.  Before you condemn me, I will say I do not mind other people's dogs.  I pet them.  I even play with them.  I will dog sit for you.  Just don't expect me to have a dog as a full time resident in or on my property.  That being said, German Shepherds are on another level from my regular indifference to my canine friends.

When I was a kid my mom would make holiday treats for the neighbors that my sister and I would be employed to deliver to the surrounding homes.  When I was about 7 or 8 I delivered the annual goods to the house directly behind us.  Rather than walk ALL THE WAY around the block, I cut through the back yard.  What resourceful young person would not do the same right?

I exit the back door of the home and walking at the normal pace of a young child, realize that "Mandy" is "walking" toward me at a much faster rate and barking.  I know you are not supposed to run from dogs but what do you think my instinct told me to do?  RUN!  I had merely a few feet to get to the fence that separated me from certain death.  I ran like my life depended on getting to my yard.  My waist length bright red hair was down and trailed behind me and I was sure that if that demon dog could not catch up to me she would at least cut my hair six inches with her razor sharp teeth.  I imagined, like a shark can smell blood; my red hair sent Mandy into a feeding frenzy.  She was mad I did not bring her any holiday treats and she was going to make me one instead!  Of course, as I recall this story it is all happening in slow motion so you should slow your visual down as well.

I get to the fence unscathed and throw one leg over only to realize Mandy is hot on my tail.  Before I can get the first scream out she has my dangling knee in her death grip and shreds my favorite corduroys and has her way with my knee like Freddy Kruger on a taffeta prom dress.  As I am about to pass out from fear I see all 6 feet 7 inches of my father open the back door and hurdle every obstacle in his path.  He scoops me up in the blink of an eye, and although we were safe from further mutilation, takes me inside the house.

My memory has blocked the rest in a vain attempt to maintain my love of dogs.  Obviously the worst of it was the event itself and I did not receive any lifetime scars; physical scars that is.

I am driving home form the store today with the boys in the back seat.  A car approaches the driver side as it is about to pass us.  I hear the beast before I see it in the back seat.  Just the sound of a German Shepard bark makes me cringe.  In our back seat Little Man was watching Curious George and says "mommy, that was a bog dog that passed us".  All I could muster, as I involuntarily pushed the gas pedal, was "yes it was honey".