My Phobia

How can people say dogs are cute and cuddly? They're robust, agile and dangerous. Their teeth could rip through your skin as easy as a knife can slice through butter. I wouldn't say that that's cute and cuddly at all. Dogs have scared me ever since I can first remember, and yet my fear of them has got increasingly worse. No matter the size or shape, the simple fact is I'm absolutely terrified of 'man's best friend'.

I freeze on the spot, not one part of me can move. It feels as if someone has smeared glue into the socket of my eyes. My gaze is fixated on the beast approaching me and I daren't look away. Immediately, my mouth turns dry and I start to get light headed. I glance around for a way to escape but by now it's too late, the dog's already too close. Underneath it's powerful paws the grass is flattened, bowing down to the creature that stands over it. Soon it will be me, I tell myself, that is trampled beneath those razor claws. My brain commands me to run and get away, but my legs, still frozen in fright, are defiant and refuse to move. This is the end, I'm going to be killed! Panic quickly swims over me and I blank out my surroundings, my world spins round and everything becomes a complete blur. Looming closer still, the putrid yet indescribable smell quickly reaches my nostrils. It's face is clear now, I can pick out all of it's ghastly features. Sharp, grubby teeth line the inside of it's mouth, all of them razor-sharp and ready to tear open my vulnerable skin. Beady eyes, wide and angry are glaring straight at me. It's almost like it's inspecting me, looking for any weaknesses and deciding where it should attack. The balloon of fear inside me is completely inflated and is almost ready to burst. My legs are trembling and are starting to give way; it feels like someone tied heavy weights all over my body. Because of this I panic even more, I start to breathe faster, now there are weights pressing down on my chest as well. I attempt to ignore all of this for a second and take one last look up. Expecting to see the dog right at my feet, I cover my face so that if it does pounce I can at least put up some sort of fight to save myself. I see nothing, nothing but the blades of crushed grass. The dog's gone, vanished into thin air. Confused and relieved, I turn my head to make sure that it isn't behind me and ready to attack me when I don't expect it. But it isn't there. The dog has truly disappeared. Then I see notice a young boy- no older than nine- standing by a group of trees, calling the dog over to him. My cheeks turn a deep crimson cringe as the dog jumps up at the boy; the boy doesn't shout out for help, he just laughs and delicately strokes the dog's fur. Laughing at my foolishness, I slowly turn away and start walking for home, hoping that no-one saw what just happened. Hoping even more that I don't encounter another dog on the way back.

So how did it all start? Where did my irrational fear of dogs come from? I'll tell you as much as I can remember. It was a hot, sticky summers day, the sun was high in the sky and the six year old me was running happily after a bright red football. My Dad and I were down the local park playing with my favourite ball. It was one of those rubber balls, the kind that fly through the air like they have a mind of their own. I loved the ball so much that if ever someone had the nerve to take it off of me I would scream until I got it back. The wind in my hair and the sun on my face, I was having the time of my life and no-one could get in my way. Yet nothing at all could have prepared me for what was about to happen. My Dad threw the ball towards me and as I wasn't paying attention, it slipped through my small hands and onto the uncut grass. A woman and her dog were strolling across the opposite side of the field and the ball whizzed straight towards them. Instantly the woman's pet saw the ball and yanked on it's lead; the owner was taken completely by surprise and the rope slipped easily out of her hand. Pumping it's muscular legs, the dog ran at an unbelievable pace towards the ball, reaching it before I could even start running. As soon s it had reached the ball, it stopped and it sunk it's front teeth into the ball's skin. My pride and joy made a loud pop and the air gushed out like water breaking free from a dam. I was shocked. What had just happened? I looked again at my ball and I saw that it was no longer circular. It was flat, like it had been crushed by a steam roller. I opened my mouth and out of it came the most ear-piercing wail that I could have ever produced. Everyone in the field stopped what they were doing and stared at me. Tears streamed out of my eyes and down my cheeks, already blood red from screaming. I stamped my feet heavily onto the ground and shook my arms in rage. Running over, my Dad quickly picked me up and took me away from the scene. I glared back across the field at the animal that I now despised. It had done it for no reason, my prized possession had been destroyed and I had been left in a state of absolute sorrow. From that day forward my hatred of dogs grew even worse, eventually becoming the phobia that it is today.