“Hey, we grow up.”
Our youngest daughter doesn’t much like small dogs. She got chased around and bit by a puppy when she was six years old, and since then she’s harbored a fear of all canine runts.
So when a miniature poodle came running up to her on the beach, my wife gulped.
Our daughter, now more mature at the age of seven, didn’t notice the poodle until it was at her feet and now yelping.
Her face turned white.
But seconds later, she resumed smiling on a pleasant walk down the beach.
My wife sighed and said, “So you’re not afraid of small dogs anymore?”
“Nah,” our daughter said. “It’s just that at first I thought it was a zombie.”
