When I tell people I used to have an extreme phobia of dogs, people rarely believe me. Today, I'm the kind of person who will yell 'Dog!' whenever I see a dog being walked and then resume my original conversation. I'm the kind of person who has a favourite dog that I see on my walk to college, who I have named and given a personality to. I've also been known to cry at pictures of dogs: I'm definitely not the person you would imagine having such an extreme phobia of dogs that I couldn't even walk on the same side of the road as one.
I know that my phobia stemmed from two unfortunate incidents when I was younger. When I was three years old, my parents dropped me around to my babysitter's house, and I met her jumpy but friendly Jack Russell, Fidget. And when I say I 'met' him, I mean he jumped and yapped all over me, thinking I was some kind of chew toy. For a shy three year old, this was terrifying, and for a few years after I was always slightly wary of jumpy dogs.
Then I met my uncle's dog.
Looking back, I don't blame the dog for what happened. Like most dog-related incidents, I think it's the owner's fault, and this is a viewpoint I stand by to this day. I was about seven I think, and I was slowly beginning to trust dogs again. I was getting out of the car to greet my Uncle when I was pounced on faster than a lightning bolt. All I saw was this flurry of white and brown coming at me like a bullet and then hurtling into me at full force. My uncle and mother thought the dog was just playing around, but then he bit into my ankle and wouldn't let go. I screamed and that's the moment my uncle picked me up and made everything ten times worse. He started whirling me around in the air, my limbs flailing with an angry dog's teeth still well and truly sunken into my leg.
I don't quite know what happened next, but that's what triggered an all-consuming phobia of dogs that lasted until I was about eleven. I remember crossing roads to avoid them, my grandmother telling me to 'whistle a happy tune' whenever I saw one to calm down my racing heart. I remember asking friends if they had any dogs before I went around their house, so they could lock them away in a room before I got there and I wouldn't have to see them. I remember one of my friends not taking me seriously and that's how a German Shepherd ended up chasing me around the house, growling and snarling, even though she had reassured me that he was gentle and 'wouldn't hurt a fly'.
I still can't quite put my finger on what eventually got me over my fear of dogs. I remember my aunt getting a Dalmatian at one point, who I did love dearly. He ate everything, including my brother's chocolate lollipop, and was around for many years: I even worked up the courage to take him for a walk. Maybe it was my dad's refusal to allow his daughter to fear something he loved so intently, maybe I just haven't had any more negative experiences (touch wood) with dogs so in time I have gotten over it. Just a few days ago I was greeted by a gate by a giant German Shepherd and two jumpy, excitable Pitbull Terriers. I'm happy to say that fear did not enter my heart once.
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