Snooooooop, Evan Schaeffer [great books to read TXT] 📗

As deceiving as my 6'2", 235-pound frame may be, there have been times when I have been afraid. I'm not one of those guys who shrieks every time they are within ten yards of a wasp. It'll take a pretty major event to frighten me. When I was still at the juvenile age of six, a dog named Snoopy made it happen.
To most people, the name Snoopy brings back memories of happiness and innocence. For me, I think of the ex-police squad German Sheppard that chomped down on my face.
I completely understand how badass that sounds, ten years later. The truth is, getting bitten by Snoop was one of, if not the, most terrifying things I have ever encountered.
The scene was a muggy, dry, July afternoon. My neighbors and I were focused on kickball for hours, until we decided to check out what Snoop was doing. We tossed the ball around for a little while with him, but he seemed to be acting a little funny.
Something that must be understood is that I was used to living with a seven-pound Shih Tzu that couldn't hurt a fly (even if she wanted to). Snoopy may have been the only big dog that I knew. Nevertheless, the dog had never even phased me before. Not once would I have admitted to being scared of this beast of an animal. Not until, at least, my face was lodged in his jaw.
The incident, surprisingly, is one of my most vivid of all my childhood. This is surprising due to all the pain and stress I was under. The feeling of being trapped inside that dog's mouth is still one that I can recollect. After the canine released my cranium from the grip of death, I sprinted up the hill in my backyard towards the sliding glass door of my family room. I found my mom and sister, who were both reading while it had happened, shoot to their feet. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the counter in my bathroom; my mom was wiping the blood off of the side of my face. I can still see the chilling image in my head. I was sure that there were three inch deep holes in my head, and that they would never go away. Snoop's owner was also in the bathroom, assuring us that she would send the dog away. Upon hearing this, I became slightly upset; probably because I still liked Snoop, even after what he had just done to me.
My next memory was being in the front seat of our mini-van. This is a big deal for any first grader, so obviously I was wondering what the occasion was. I was informed that we were on our way to the hospital. I couldn't recall ever being at the hospital before, so I tried to imagine what a hospital would look like. My curiosity continued: Are we speeding? Does this mean I get to sit in the front from now on? Am I gonna die in the hospital?
The coolest thing about getting to the hospital was that my aunt worked there, so she had a wheelchair waiting for me when we got there. Everyone around me kept asking me how I felt, and the only way I knew how to respond was, "It hurts." I was wheeled into a room where the doctor laid me down on some sort of table. He told me that I was going to fall asleep soon, but I didn't believe him, because I wasn't everything but tired.
I ended up with 32 stitches, which was a pretty good number to tell people, I decided. After they sewed me up and I came to, I was presented with a plate of mashed potatoes and Jell-O. I didn't mind this kind of dinner whatsoever. The thought that was floating around in my mind was whether or not I had to live at the hospital for a while now. My dad told me otherwise, and that we could go home whenever I was ready. The dizziness really hit me when I stood up, and I had a major headache the whole way home from the hospital. I stretched out in the back of the red Lexus, and passed out again until we were home.
The incident with Snoop changed my life. I will forever remember that feeling of sheer terror, or the look in my mother's eyes when she is truly afraid. There was a bright side to getting bitten by a dog, believe it or not. I earned a Slurpee after I made it out of stitch removal without crying, and have a great story to tell when people notice a scar on my face. Besides, everybody knows that chicks dig scars.

Publication Date: 01-18-2010

All Rights Reserved