a minor childhood trauma
A friend from college is currently staying with us, and over dinner I described an aspect of my childhood in such terms that everyone at the table said "Write that down!" Which I am now attempting to do about 12 hours too late to be entirely successful, I suspect.
Leading up to this we were talking about cars (because we need to get a new one), and my dad mentioned driving the six hours to New England in my parents' first car, a tiny Honda Civic, with me and our dog (a Puli) in the back. My mom was quick to remind him of the fence they had to put between us, because the dog kept bothering me--wanting to lick my face and such. And I responded that he was always bothering me. I was his 'mark'. He used to steal my breakfast. My parents were astonished that I remembered this, considering how young I was at the time. "Of course I remember," I told them. "It was traumatic. Imagine that you're sitting at the table, spoon in hand, with a bowl of cereal in front of you, when suddenly there's a dog there. But before you can react, it's gone. And so is your cereal. That's traumatizing for a three-year-old."
And then they all told me that I needed to write this down. I'm not sure why, but have done as commanded.
If there's a moral to this story, it's that if you own a sheepdog that can jump, don't leave it unattended in the kitchen with your small child while said child is attempting to eat Cheerios.
Or something.
(And boy, could that dog jump. He was like a cat in that regard. He managed to get up onto the counter once--the counter, with no stool or anything to help him on the way. And then he ate an entire batch of double-chocolate brownies and was very, very sick for an entire day. Messily.)
Leading up to this we were talking about cars (because we need to get a new one), and my dad mentioned driving the six hours to New England in my parents' first car, a tiny Honda Civic, with me and our dog (a Puli) in the back. My mom was quick to remind him of the fence they had to put between us, because the dog kept bothering me--wanting to lick my face and such. And I responded that he was always bothering me. I was his 'mark'. He used to steal my breakfast. My parents were astonished that I remembered this, considering how young I was at the time. "Of course I remember," I told them. "It was traumatic. Imagine that you're sitting at the table, spoon in hand, with a bowl of cereal in front of you, when suddenly there's a dog there. But before you can react, it's gone. And so is your cereal. That's traumatizing for a three-year-old."
And then they all told me that I needed to write this down. I'm not sure why, but have done as commanded.
If there's a moral to this story, it's that if you own a sheepdog that can jump, don't leave it unattended in the kitchen with your small child while said child is attempting to eat Cheerios.
Or something.
(And boy, could that dog jump. He was like a cat in that regard. He managed to get up onto the counter once--the counter, with no stool or anything to help him on the way. And then he ate an entire batch of double-chocolate brownies and was very, very sick for an entire day. Messily.)