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On a summer day in July, 1955, I played tag with my neighbor's children, Robert, Allen and Thelma Jean Teets. After about an hour, we started to the Teets' house. Two hounds, one black and white and a red one joined us. They wagged their tails and jumped up and down. Delighted by their antics, we put out our hands to pet them. Suddenly, white foam dripped from their mouths. The four of us raced toward an old shed. We rushed inside and slammed the door. As we regained our breath, a crashing sound sent shivers through us. The dogs leaped through an open window and headed straight for us. We flung open the door and dashed toward the Teets' home. The dogs barked and gnashed their teeth as we tried to flee. The dogs divided the four of us into pairs. Allen and Thelma Jean out manuevered them and ran home. Robert and I were surrounded by the dogs. They pinned us against the fence. More white foam oozed from their jaws. Robert leaped in front of me and waved his arms at the dogs. They retreated a few feet. Robert lifted me over the fence. As I partially cleared the fence, the red dog charged. His teeth ripped my face. I fell to the ground. Again, Robert rushed toward the dogs. They backed up and Robert scaled the fence. He picked me up and carried me home.
My mother dried my tears and wiped away the blood from my face. As Robert explained how the dogs foamed at the mouth, my mother saw the dogs running down the road toward the Alt's residence. She telephoned them. When the dogs arrived, Mr. Alt shot and killed them. Their bodies were taken for a medical evaluation.
My parents rushed me to the doctor. I began a series of painful rabies shots. A few days later, the medical evaluation proved the dogs had rabies.
This predictment taught me two valuable lessons. First, be careful around all animals and secondly, there is a "friend that sticks closer than a brother."
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