Unlike my last story, which was about how I amazingly pulled twice on a train and never saw either woman again, this one is about a dog called Jesse. It's important because without that dog, my life would've turned out very differently and possibly even had an abrupt ending.
See, once upon a time, I was very, very young and very, very small (not to mention a little chubby). I was about 3 or 4 at the time, and my Dad and I were walking Jesse, who was a wee puppy at the time. See, we used to quite near to a place called Chellow Dene, which is an ideal place to walk, run and play. It was just a nice place for pet owners, nature enthutists, fishermen and just people in general to walk.
Anyway, as usual I had run ahead of Dad, chasing Jesse along the path. Bare in mind that the paths form a circle, so he could see me at all times. Anyway, this partcular day, Jesse had disappeared into a wooded area and I was... doing something (I don't remember this myself. This tale has been told to me by Dad). All of a sudden, a man dressed in pajamas from a local mental institution leapt out of the bushes and grabbed me and tried dragging me away.
Dad, seeing this, immediately ran towards me but he was a fair bit behind us, so it took him a while to catch up. Fortunately for me, Jesse appeared out of nowhere and bit his trouser leg. The man, surprised at this, let go out of me as Jesse proceeded to tear his PJ leg off. Dad had caught up and got rid of the man, who claimed that he was only offering me a sweetie, despite the massive line of bruises up and down my arm.
Sufficed to say, we went home immediately.
However, the story is not over yet. Yes, I have explained why I owe Jesse my life but there's more and it gets funny.
Later that day, two policemen came knocking on the door. Dad answered, and Jesse waddled (That's how young she was) over and one of the officers leaned down to give her a fussy. The other officer then asked Dad to to show him the Rottweiler that had attacked a man in Chellow Dene. Dad pointed at Jesse, who had rolled over and was looking extremely cute at this point, and said "That's your dog."
Dad then proceeded to explain what had happened, showing the man my bruises. The Officer noted this down and disappeared. We all thought that was the end of the story.
Sorry, it isn't, but I'm nearly done.
A week or so later, two officers appeared, one of whom was carrying a pound of fillet steak. As the one with the steak gave it to Jesse, the other explained that this man was a pedophille who had previously abducted a young girl. He had managed to escape justice by hiding in the Mental Institution but had foolishly decided to run as soon as he realized that he had lied to the Police. They had managed to catch and arrest him, thanks to Jesse.
Personally, I hope the bastard rots in Hell.
That is why I literally owe my life to Jesse, a beloved dog who sadly passed away at the tender age of 6 due to a form of cancer. Despite her short life, she made an impact on mine and I will always remember her.
To Dad, the memories are his. The errors are mine.
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