Christmas Day, 2014.
My family and I drive up to my second cousin’s home.
On our car ride there I ask,
“Do they have a dog?”
Hoping,
Praying,
For the answer to be yes.
It was a question I have asked a million times before,
Always with an expectant tone,
Never failing to smile just a little bit more,
When I got the answer I had wished for.
My face lit up after my Dad answered.

The doorbell plays a terse melody,
And my Aunt opens the door.
She greets us cheerfully,
And we stroll inside.
I see my three, young cousins,
They giggle as they wave.
I look around,
Searching,
For any sign of a dog.
My search ends after I look outside,
And find precisely what I was looking for,
A beautiful golden retriever.
My chin drops,
As if almost to say, “Aw.”
My uncle sees my reaction,
So he takes me outside.
The golden retriever trots over to us.
His name is Acorn.
I learn that they bought him at the mall.

I excitedly pet the dog and bend down to scratch his ears.
His lets out a quiet purr.
Or was it a growl.
Unsure, I stand up,
A hesitant smile on my face.
I put the incident in the back of my mind,
And walk back into the kitchen.
Before I could reach the plate of crackers,
My little cousin, Noodle, as everyone likes to call him,
Pulls my hand,
Tells me to come play with him.
I oblige.
We play everything from hide and seek to tag,
But I would always try to make excuses to do something upstairs,
Just so I could see Acorn again:
“Sorry, I’m just going to get a cracker.”
“One second, let me just ask my mom something.”
“I just have to go to the bathroom.”

I walk up the stairs again,
“Getting a cracker.”
I see Acorn contently licking the floor around the kitchen,
I casually walk over to him, extending a friendly hand to pet him.
But before I can even reach his blond fur,
I hear a deep snarl.
I pull my hand back as quickly as possible.
But it’s too late.
Acorn viciously bites into my hand with his large canines.

I try to pull away.
But his grip is too strong.
I felt utterly trapped.
There was no way I could get out of his grip.
This is where I die.

I hear screaming behind me as I continue my hysterical struggle ,
“Help her!”
My uncle runs over,
His face pale.
He grabs Acorn’s back legs and pulls,
Freeing me from the dog’s merciless grasp.
But teeth sink into my leg even deeper than before.
I sharply drawn in my breath,
A silent gasp.
My uncle pulls him off with even more frantic force.
It takes one vigorous yank,
And I am finally released from the prison of Acorn’s teeth.

I am left paralyzed with fear.
I look down,
At five distinct holes on the back of my right hand.
A perfect fit for Acorn’s teeth.
My eyes are opened wide enough for one to worry that they will stick that way,
My mouth hangs in a perpetual gasp.
My grandma comes over,
Bringing me to the sink to put cold water on my wounds,
Trying to stay calm.
I drift in and out of consciousness.

I sit at the kitchen island,
Ice on my hand.
My uncle,
Who luckily was a doctor,
Cleans the gashes,
Gives me advil,
Relieving the agony I felt in my right hand and leg.
As I sit there,
I realize,
That I was lucky,
Lucky that I did not lose a hand,
Lucky that the dog did not bite my face.
How could a dog with a name like Acorn be so cruel?
I know for a fact that this dog is capable of killing someone,
Just as all dogs are.
Though I did not die from my, overall minor, injuries,
I know that this vicious thing lead to one death in particular.
The death of my affinity for dogs.
One of the most prominent parts of my life.
I am never going to be the same.

Christmas Eve, 2015.
My family and I are going to a mutual friend’s home.
As I contently sit in the car, an anxious thought surfaces in my head,
“Do they have a dog?”
Hoping,
Praying,
For the answer to be no.