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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It was a late Saturday morning, and I was getting my 12-year-old self ready for our weekly summer sand-lot baseball game. I had my ball glove hanging on my bicycle handlebars, two baseballs, and my ball bat placed in the front bicycle basket. Before taking off, I had come inside to get a soft drink to take to the game. I retrieved the soft drink from the kitchen ‘fridge when my mom, in another room, said: “Jack, I need you to go to Swope’s and pick up a half-dozen eggs”. Oh, geez. Going to Swope’s Store would delay my arrival at the sandlot … and I’d get a ton of ridicule for bein’ late from “the guys”, but … there was no gettin’ out of doing Saturday chores … it was a rule of the house. So … I put my soft drink back in the ‘fridge. Mom came into the room and handed me some change, saying, “I don’t think it’ll be this much, so if there’s any money left over, get yourself a soft drink for today’s game.” I smiled, took the offered coins, stuffed them into my front jeans pocket, and went out the front door to my waiting bicycle. Swope’s Store was a local corner grocery store typical of small-town in mid-twentieth-century America. It was located only about two blocks from our family’s home. The entire round-trip shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes at most. So … off I went, peddling my bike vigorously. As I approached a corner where I’d turn right onto the street which culminated in Swope’s Store, a little girl … probably about three or four years of age … came tearing around the corner next to a small brick building, screaming at the top of her lungs: “IT’S A DOG! HE’S GONNA EAT ME!” Her facial expression conveyed abject terror, and her demeanor was pure panic. I stopped and got off my bike in a flash … the two baseballs in the bike’s basket went rolling down the street … and I grabbed my baseball bat, taking a defensive posture to confront the vicious dog that was about to come around the corner, as the little girl ran past me on the sidewalk. The pursuing animal darted around the small brick building in an instant, and I prepared to do something with my ball bat against it. I stopped. The terrorizing animal the little girl was running from was a … puppy. It couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 inches long. Its ears were down, its tail was wagging at 100 miles per hour, and it was stumbling as he attempted to run. I took a couple of steps up onto the sidewalk and interrupted the puppy’s trip with one hand, scooping the tiny animal up onto my arm. He was still wagging his tail and attempting to lick anything that was even remotely close to his little brown and white face. I turned, and the little girl was frantically trying to open a small wooden gate that provided access to a house’s front yard, and she was still yelling about a killer dog after her. I said, in a rather loud voice: “Hey! It’s alright. I have the dog, and he’s not gonna get ‘cha”, and began walking slowly toward her. She looked toward me but didn’t give up her attempt to open the gate. Her expression indicated she was not at all accepting of my announcement. I walked until I was adjacent to the little girl. Seeing that the puppy I held was focusing his attention on me and my arm, the fear left her blue eyes … but she didn’t let go of the gate. I knelt next to the little girl, and I petted the puppy as I spoke to her: “He’s just a baby … look” … I petted the small critter in my arm, and he squirmed and jostled himself about as he licked my wrist, his tail still wagging. The little girl’s gaze turned to the puppy, and she let go of the gate. She looked up at me and asked: “Does he bite?” Obviously, this was progress for the better. I said, “No, he’s just licking my arm because he’s looking for a playmate.” The little girl’s expression conveyed that she had never contemplated the probability that the puppy had only wanted to play… not to attack her. She studied the puppy, still in constant motion on my arm. I could see she was becoming curious … not anxious … as the seconds ticked by. With my other hand, I continued to pet the little dog, and it responded by licking and twisting even more on my arm. “Ya’ wanna touch him?” I asked of the little girl. Her uncertainty at such a suggestion was plain. I could tell that she wanted to do just that, but her inner caution made her reluctant to say so. She, the puppy, and I engaged in our thoughts for a few more minutes. With the little guy's back legs dangling down, I picked the puppy up and snuggled him against my chin and cheek. Upon seeing my actions, the little girl giggled, and a smile came across her little face. I extended my hands toward the little girl, still clutching the puppy. She beamed, reached out a hand, quickly touched the dog, and retreated it. She still smiled. Within another five minutes, the little girl had become enamored with the puppy. I asked, nodding toward the house with the gate, “Is that your house?” The little girl interrupted her actions with the puppy to glance up at me as she nodded, “Yes.” “Okay,” I said, and I walked over to the gate, undid the latch, and the little girl pranced into the yard … with a small brown and white newfound friend stumbling after her in joyful pursuit.
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