Little Story #2

My parents were together for the first three months of my life. They had a dog named Pride. When they were divorced my dad said the only thing he wanted was the dog. Nice thing for a girl to learn about her dad.
Apparently, Pride sat beside my crib, guarding me. The mommie told me different stories about what happened to him. I think she gave him to a family who owned a farm. Maybe she was being vindictive or maybe she thought Pride would be better off with them. Pride jumped over a fence and was hurt badly enough to die. This is the narrative I grew up with and am not at all sure how much of it is true. Except for the part about Pride sitting by my crib. I want that one.
I was afraid of dogs as a kid and am still uneasy around them. I like them very much. I just feel nervous.
When I was very young Grandmom sent me to the store. I must have been old enough to go but I know I was very young. There was a short cut through the streetcar tracks. It wasn't really dangerous because the streetcars didn't go that fast. It was easy to stand on the side when they went by. (Or stand in the middle when two went by and enjoy the thrill. Probably a bit dangerous.) But she told me to go around the long way. I was walking down the street when a small dog came out from behind his house and began to bark.  I stood very still and began to talk to him. I was terrified. I talked. He barked. Eventually he got bored and went back behind his house and I hurried away. The trip took way longer than it should have (despite me taking the short cut home) and Grandmom was worried and mad when I got home.
Years later, I was living in my first tiny studio and going to a community college. I walked to and from school. I was headed to school one morning when a really big German Shepard came running out from behind his house. I thought I'd walk around him and stepped off the curb. The mirror of a truck hit me in the head and I spun around. My right foot went under the back wheel of the truck.
I had a surgery to close the hole on the side of my ankle. I think it was a four hour surgery. Maybe five. I was in the hospital for a month, home with my leg elevated for a month and on crutches for a month. I have a really big scar. It looks like someone has taken a bite out of my ankle.
If my parents had stayed together and I had grown up with Pride I might not have been afraid of dogs. There's really no way to know. But videos of babies and young children with their dogs put a lump in my throat.
As do videos and pictures of dad's with their daughters.