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November 9, 2012
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I was in the country-side, being shown a golf-ski range. The school I work for paid for the trip, and the principal showed us around. After it was over, he awkwardly stumbled down the road to a taxi that was waiting for him. Mum tried to pat a dog. It was a thin, scraggly greyhound, and it didn’t like to be touched. It started growling at us. It was a tied to a fence with rotten rope. I warned mum that it might have rabies. She backed off, but dad said that it was probably fine. He also went to pat it, but the dog growled more and was pulling on the rope. I kept telling dad to leave it.

One of the school teachers said that the dog had a strange disease that meant it wanted to save the youngest person that it could smell. The dog broke free and went straight for me. I tried jumping over a ditch. I didn’t make it, and slid into the muck. I couldn’t move. The dog jumped on me. “YOU HAVE GIVEN ME RABIES, DAD!” I screamed.

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