When I was younger, I had a deathly fear of German Shepards. I think I was eight or nine, at a kid named Mark Fisher's house. His house was attached to a textiles factory of some kind -- carpetting I think, but I'm not really sure. They lived in Carter Lake, which was across the river, in Iowa. In the factory/house, they had a German Shepard that was the meanest thing ever. It barked and I'd see it chewing meat off of steaks out back. It was the guard dog, I was told, and it was trained to attack strangers. Once the dog got into the house while Mark and I were there, and the dog chased me up on top of an exercise bike. I'd climbed up it and onto a dresser to get away from the dog, terrified for my life. From then on, I was terrified of German Shepards. Any time I'd see them, I'd freeze up, like I wanted to run but just couldn't make my legs go, like I was that scared little kid again and this time the dog was going to maul me. It's been something I'd had with me for a long time.

This morning, a guy was out walking his dog, a German Shepard, and he let go of the leash by accident. I crouched down and grabbed the leash and the dog looked at me then dutifully trotted over to me with a stupid "You caught me" look on his face and licked my hand. I petted the dog while the owner ran over to me, and the man thanked me a great deal.

I guess somewhere along the line, I got over my fear of German Shepards, and I just never knew it until I was confronted with one. I wonder if all fears are like that, and for all people.

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In other news, you've probably noticed I brought the old site design back. Any comments made while we were on the other system have been lost. Tough shit. I'm still looking forward to seeing new site designs soon. Because I can go back to that other thing any time.