When I was young, I used to be terrified of dogs, especially the giant ones. I mean why wouldn’t I? When an animal was three times my size and could accidentally suffocate my by sitting on me. Another type of dog that used to frighten me was the mean ones. The ones that would snap at just about anyone that they saw, even their humans. Even at a young age, I used to ride my bike to school. On occasion, I would pass by yards that housed dogs, and I would always jump whenever they started barking. I suppose I got over my phobia of dogs from a constant exposure to them at outside gatherings, going to people’s homes, etc.
Growing up, I did not have the opportunity to raise an animal. Well, there is one case, but it hardly qualifies. I tried, with the help of my parents of course, to nurse a young, wild rabbit that lost its mother. I found it one afternoon, in 5th or 6th grade, while mowing the lawn. As I was about to mow over the hole the young rabbit was in, I noticed that the grass was moving by itself. I cut the engine off and inspected the hole. To my surprise I found a live creature. I was instructed by my parents to leave it alone in case the mother came back, but she never did. We took in the rabbit the next day. For about a week, taking care of the rabbit was a joint effort between my parents and I. We kept the rabbit in a shoe box lined with cotton and did our best to keep it warm and fed. However, one day I came back home from school devastated. The rabbit had died during the day despite our best efforts. We buried the rabbit in a nearby wooded area along with the shoe box.