He just watched.īecause of his lack of apparent aggression, any other kid might have been tempted to pet him. Two trailers down and one of the few dogs in the park kept on a chain, he watched me every day as my brother and I walked to school. If anyone thought animals didn’t think, didn’t plot, didn’t plan, then they’d never met Hammer. One hundred pounds of shepherd mixed with Rottweiler mixed with God knew what else, Hammer wasn’t afraid to look at me as the other dogs were. Hammer wasn’t right not right being flat-out crazy. Dogs don’t just not like me they’re afraid of me.Įxcept for Hammer. The upper lip would peel back, ears would flatten, and the warm brown eyes would go glassy and slide sideways as they hunched away with tail tucked beneath their legs. Dogs are different-one sniff of me was enough. They’d crawl in my lap, chew happily on a finger or the tattered edge of my sneaker. There were lots of dogs around, most of them running loose. We lived in a trailer park then, my brother, our mother, and me. Once, when I was seven, I was chased by a dog.
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