Last night, Tina and I were out driving in German Village, and as I was gazing out the window, Tina said, "Aww, it's a three-legged dog!"
I looked where she was pointing, and sure enough, there was a three-legged dog on a leash, being walked by two men. "They get around well, don't they, with those three legs?" I asked. Tina gave a non-committal response, and I continued. "My grandmother used to have a dog with three legs. I was terrified of that dog."
"I'm not really sure. He guarded the chicken coop. She had a lot of dogs, though. She'd take them in every time they showed up, and probably had between ten and fifteen chained up around the farm. I was afraid of nearly all of them, honestly."
"She had one in the basement who I was absolutely terrified of, and I believe that in the whole time I visited her, I was only down there once because of that dog. Another lived in the barn, and as much as I liked to hang out in the barn, I couldn't get anywhere near the area that dog was chained up."
"I gave all the dogs a wide berth. I still don't know why."( Collapse )( Collapse )
Thinking about this made me think about fear as I see it today, too. I admit to feeling some fear, and it sometimes becomes overwhelming. The problem is that I don't have any idea what the fear is of. I can't say I have something specific that scares me. . . There's just a feeling of dread. I remember a time when tentacly things didn't even frighten me, and logically I know that there's nothing to fear that you can't banish with laughter. If it works for Cthulhu
, it'll work for anything.
I'm not entirely sure what to do about that. I think I just need to restore faith in my laughter. It's a hard thing to do.