We stood far enough away
so that all I could see
in the corrugated aluminum doghouse
was the reflection of the sunlit yard
on his eyes.
“He won’t bite,” she was saying,
“He’s a good dog!”
A Shepherd-Doberman mix,
lean and black,
usually barking
at the end of his chain,
near a red sign with white letters:
Beware of Dog
but today he was quiet.
“Just don’t be afraid,
and he’ll like you”
I decided to try,
and as I went closer
the eyes didn’t move,
I could just hear his breath
over the cut grass breeze.
A low growl began,
and slowly increased in size,
like shifting gears,
with quick intakes of air between,
until he jumped,
and I jumped and turned,
(so fast it hurt my knee.)
He caught me for a second,
but I broke away,
and I ran and I cried.
She followed me around,
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
You alright? I’m so sorry!”
Her parents ran out,
and I gripped my pants,
cause it hurt so bad,
and they asked me to go inside,
so I did,
and they said they wanted to see my behind,
where I got bit,
and I said no,
but they insisted,
they needed to know,
and I said I’d be okay,
but they grabbed me,
and pulled down my pants,
and pulled down my shorts,
and I put my hands over my face,
and they said I was okay.
But I wasn’t okay.
– John LeMasney
Stories of Failure & Kindness 