I was twelve years old. My brother was seven. He took our Beagle Gigi out for a walk and came home in tears. He had wandered into a part of our neighborhood that was new to us. A couple of children living there had thrown sticks and rocks at our dog. My brother ran all the way home.
Being older, I realized it was my responsibility to come to the defense of my brother and of our family pet. I put Gigi back on her leash and set out for a walk. After a short time I came near the house of the Beagle violence. The two culprits were playing in their front yard. When they saw me they stopped in their tracks. Their eyes were wide open. Their jaws dropped. Astonishment, wonder and a little fear found expression in their faces. I should probably explain to my readers that have never seen me in person – I’m a congenital amputee, missing both arms below the elbow and my left leg at the knee.
The older and braver of the two children found his voice. “What happened to your hands?”, he asked. To which I responded, “You see that dog!”
We never had any problems after that.