Dog Attack

“Bye, Mrs. Jones. See you next week.” I had said to my tutor. I was in 2rd grade when I learned I had ADD. Every week for the past 2 years I have been seeing Mrs. Jones. She is a middle-aged woman, a little older than my mom, and has taught me loads of stuff, like the proper way to write a (hamburger) paragraph. Laura, her daughter, had already graduated from college and no longer lived with Mrs. Jones. Mr. Jones had run for governor of Illinois. They had a pet dog. Her name was Brittney and was a west highland terrier. Mrs. Jones kept Brittney locked n a room when guests were over. She said that Brittney was mistreated in her previous home and was raised to be a guard dog.
As I walked down the stairs, I realized that I had to go to the bathroom, really, really, bad! I raced up the steps to find the door open with Brittney standing in the doorway. She was so cute, that was until she attacked me! Brittney ran toward my feet growling. I screamed. The dog started biting at my ankles and was gnawing at it ferociously as if it were a bone, a really good bone. “Help! Somebody help me! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I yelled once more. Ok, maybe I exaggerated just a little bit-but I’m not saying it wasn’t scary. Trust me, it was! I even peed in my pants! Well, I had to go, really bad! Mrs. Jones took me to the bathroom to help me wash of the shallow cuts Brittney had made. I remember I was still shaking, even in the bathroom.
After that I developed a fear of dogs. I assumed that all dogs were the same; so I stayed away from them. Luckily I out grew this fear and I even want a dog of my own.