Chapter Thirty-Six: Like your life depends on it

There was a time, back when I was just a kid, I had a very bad encounter with dogs. Mrs Benson was a nice old lady, who lived alone with her three Doberman dogs. She always came to visit, and when she did, she always had an apple pie in her hand.

She made absolutely the best apple pie.

I would be by the door, impatiently waiting for her, and the moment she walked in, I would yank the pie out of her hands, and dash to the kitchen, yelling ‘Dad, Dad, Mrs Benson is here with the Apple pie.’

She normally took her three dogs on a walk down the street every evening. She had a single leash, that extended into three places and hooked them. One particular day, she hadn't come with the apple pie and I was furious. I think I grew an addiction to her pie, because when she didn’t show up with it, how I felt was comparable to a drug addict who had their drugs taken away from them.

The moment I saw her from the window, I dashed out of the house. My dad had been in the bathroom so he wouldn't have be