By: Megan Eaton
I don’t remember when I went from being scared of dogs to loving them. As a young child, I preferred my pet parakeet, Perry. He knew his own name, gave me kisses, rode around on my shoulder, and said “Birds can’t talk.” (Really.) A fear of dogs developed seemingly out of nowhere. By age 9, on a family trip to Finland, I cowered when a Newfoundland tied up at a gas station barked from across the street, and clung to the wall in the airport stairwell when I passed a drug-sniffing Labrador. The fear eased over time, and eventually I met the first dog I remember truly loving: my dad’s 2-year-old rescued Sheltie named Keksi (Finnish for “biscuit”).
I don’t remember when I went from being scared of dogs to loving them. As a young child, I preferred my pet parakeet, Perry. He knew his own name, gave me kisses, rode around on my shoulder, and said “Birds can’t talk.” (Really.) A fear of dogs developed seemingly out of nowhere. By age 9, on a family trip to Finland, I cowered when a Newfoundland tied up at a gas station barked from across the street, and clung to the wall in the airport stairwell when I passed a drug-sniffing Labrador. The fear eased over time, and eventually I met the first dog I remember truly loving: my dad’s 2-year-old rescued Sheltie named Keksi (Finnish for “biscuit”).






















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