When I was about five years old I lived in California. If you went down the street you would find my cousins house. It was fun living so close to one another because we could ride bikes or walk down the hill to their house. One day I wanted to walk my dog to my cousins house. My mom told me that I was too little to handle such a big dog so I started pouting. Finally she agreed to let me but my dad had to go with me. I decided that was okay so I leashed up our big black lab, Bart, and my dad and I left. He told me if we saw any other dogs that he was going to take Bart’s leash because bart might want to run. About half way down the hill Bart saw a cat or something under a bush and started pulling on the leash. I kept holding on and tried to pull him back but he decided to run. I was still holding on to his leash so I was being dragged down the hill. He saw the cat jump over a fence and kept running. By then my dad had noticed and was running after us. Finally I let go and Bart kept running. My knee was all bloody and filled with rocks. I then started crying and luckily my aunt drove up in her car and saw us. She gave us a ride back up to my house and my dad got my dog. I still have a scar on my knee from that walk with Bart...