We were spending the summer at Vacation Valley. I was six years old and I was chasing a Doberman around so I could ride him like a pony. He bared his teeth, reared up like a stallion, and knocked me down.

I tried after that to like dogs. Our neighbors had a collie and I would kneel and put my arms around her neck like Timmy with Lassie. I thought having a pet was full of moments like this, and one fine pet could cure my fears, but there is no halo-effect. With every new dog, I start over.

When my husband carried Eddie home in the front of his jacket I panicked, but the puppy was little. Now, Eddie?s 90 lbs. We live in a quiet neighborhood and I?m still afraid to walk him by myself because dogs attract dogs.

I did save Eddie?s life once, though. I was in the den and I could see him out the window, shaking his head hard. There was rope hanging from his mouth. I thought he was playing because Labradors are non-stop chew. Still, I went to check. He was choking. I opened his mouth with two hands and pulled on the wet rope and three feet of it came out of him.

A few days later Eddie was sleeping on my flowers, and I was tip-toeing to the mailbox so I wouldn?t wake him, but of course I did because all dogs in the world hear me coming. He got up and yawned and walked beside me, stayed with me step for step. When I got to the mailbox, he stopped and leaned his warm body against my leg, the way people settle into each other sometimes and forget how long they've been touching. He rested like that against my leg, and I held still and leafed through bills and flyers to buy time, because all I wanted right then - out of everything possible in the world - was for Eddie not to move so we could take this tiny vacation.



I tried to get him to look up, but he's eating jambalaya.