Dog Death, an oral history

        My dad called her Angel. She was a chocolate Labrador retriever. She was rare, not just because she was chocolate, but because she was the perfect dog.  She never barked or did almost anything wrong! I don't believe I ever heard her growl as we pulled on her fur or rode on her back.I thought of her as my own little angel. She protected my brother and I, everywhere we went. She must have thought of us as her little puppies. She was my dad's dog, and you could tell because she was the most obedient. He bought her just out of high school. She must have been at least ten years old.

               NEW HOME

DAD- I guess I don't even remember where I got Angel. Actually I think we got her at a pet store in downtown. She wasn't a pure bred. She wasn't a mutt though. She was a lab, without papers.

MOM- Dad had her when I met him, and I never asked him. He had had her for maybe three years when I met him.

BROTHER- I wasn't even born yet, I don't have much of a memory of her.

                                   
                 PUPPY LOVE

DAD- She was very destructive. She used to shred her dog bed, putting a hole in it, and pull all the stuffing out. She was hard to train but she got trained. She ended up getting put in a kennel outside, so she wouldn't make a mess.

MOM- She was extremely well behaved, spent most of her time outside, and when she came in she stayed in the kitchen. Very sweet and obedient. 

BROTHER- I'm still not born yet!


               PLAYING WITH THE KIDS

DAD- Well you guys were really young, she was like a big horse. You guys would ride her around the room. She'd play fetch and and roll around a lot. 

MOM- She tolerated a lot. you guys stuck your hands in her mouth and played with her teeth. She'd let you climb all over her and she'd fetch the ball. She also loved to go on walks with us.

BROTHER- We'd throw the ball in the yard, and we'd ride her like she was a pony. 

               GETTING OLD

DAD- You could see it in her face, around her mouth and whiskers, they were getting grey. She was starting to get lumps on her, and fatty tumors.

MOM- It was just kind of a gradual process. She just kind of slowed down. She still attempted to go on walks, but we couldn't go as far. 

BROTHER- I was only three when she died, so I don't remember much.

                ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN

DAD- Well she was just getting really old. One day she was out walking and she tripped in the brush and she tipped over. Then all of a sudden she came back, her tail was wagging, and we got her up. She actually didn't die till the next day, when she was on a walk with mom.
MOM- We went on a walk that day. We just let her follow because she was way behind and we were just going down the road. She tripped and laid own on the side of the road. We were at her side when she died, giving her lots of prayers. It was very peaceful and sweet. It was sad because it was your first experience of death. We called daddy and he brought the truck. He put her on a big board, and slid her onto the truck. We couldn't get her home any other way. So we dug a hole in the backyard, and you guys made a cross, and then we buried her with her collar and special blanket. Then we planted a little pine tree next to her cross.

DAD- We buried her in the back yard, and put a little one foot tall pine tree there, which is now over thirty feet tall. 

MOM- We had a little funeral service for her. I think it was a good thing for us all to go through because it was your first experience with death.
BROTHER- I remember burying her, than we planted a tree right next to her

crazy story (made by 3people)

Sam

In a land of monsters and dragons, there were three friends, Andy, Woody, and Dallas. The land was full of buildings, so the three friends could practice their free running. Woody, being the biggest, would always make fun of the tiny kids, like Andy. “You guys should hit the weights, you probably wouldn’t be so bad then.”  Andy and Woody got a lot of practice. While the others were having fun, Dallas did not. He was too busy working, and trying to repay one of his fellow workers, his thirty dollars.

“Give me my money!” Sam said with a buff voice. However, that wasn’t happening very fast. The other worker wasn’t happy about that. Even though Dallas was working very hard, he would get beat up every day, by the larger employee. Sam, the larger employee, could beat up Dallas quite easily.

Woody

During one of the beat downs on Dallas, Sam went too far and accidently snapped his neck. There, Dallas lay on the cold cement ground motionless. Sam had killed Dallas, and he didn’t know what to do with the body. Hastily, he grabbed the limp body and tossed it into the trunk of his car. Before he left, one of Dallas’ friends, Andy, came to talk to Sam. Even though Sam was shaking with guilt, he kept his cool as Andy asked him to help him with something. “Dude come here…”

Sam

Andy brought Sam and Dallas to the hospital. The hospital was full of troubled children like Dallas. Most of them were there for the same reason. At the hospital, they fixed up Dallas, so he could be bullied later, and gave Sam a free ice cream. Sam, being a nice person, gave Dallas some of his ice cream. Dallas was in a full body cast, so he couldn’t drink by himself. Sam poured the ice cream into the hole at the top of Dallas’s cast. Sam, not realizing it, poured it into the breathing hole. The Ice cream sat freezing, choking, and softening Dallas’s screams. “Ah…ah, ah, ah!” Dallas said softly. Unfortunately Dallas was…no more.

Dallas

That is what the boys thought, that Dallas was no more, but in his extreme adrenalin rush he broke out of the body cast, and with both of his fingers plunged them into Sam’s eye sockets, and then ripping his eyes out of his head, with his amazing strength. Sam knew that he could not over power the amazingly dumb, and ignorant, Dallas James Johnson. So he pleaded to Dallas to keep his life, but Dallas was not feeling so merciful that day, even though it was an alright day. So he grabbed Sam by the head, and with one arm, flung him out of the building. And after falling 3,000,000 stories, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Sam was no more, and was never coming back to life.

Just a SHORT STORY...if you like Red Dawn, you'll like this...

               In Colorado, there is a valley. In that valley there is a town. Its a small town, an unknown disease breaks out, and the town is quarantined. A 17 year old boy escapes the chaos into the forest just on the edge of the quarantine. He finds safety in a small, abandoned, hunting cabin. His only companion is his dog Rev.
               He's a chocolate lab. Scott found the dog, half starved to death, inside the cabin. Rev would have surely been eaten if anyone else had gotten to him first.The town has gone insane. With not enough food to go around, it was bound to happen. Scott barely got out of there in time. Any later and he could have been killed. His only regret, was leaving the rest of the kids back at the orphanage.
               He had to leave under the cover of night fall. The day before he heard the adults talking," We can't take care of all these kids...not with all the food shortages!" None of the other children saw him leave, and he preferred it that way.
               Once he reaches the cabin he breaks in, and searches it for supplies. Scott finds weapons...but no food. Left in the house are supplies from what looks to be from Desert Storm. The war weapons are stuffed into a large chest. The chest contains an M-4A1, a Colt .45, and a large fixed blade knife. Above the chest he finds a Remington .308 hunting rifle and a huge case of ammo. It was Scott's lucky day, he might actually get himself out of this hell hole. After loading all the guns, Scott packs the rest of the ammo into an old army backpack.
              He finds a uniform and uses it as his change of clothes. He wrinkles his nose, they smell old, but they were better than the clothes he had been running in for two days. The floors moan as he returns to the main room. At least he would hear people coming before they killed him. He places wood from outside, in the hearth. He locks the door, sits back in the recliner with his rifle facing the door. Rev lays down at his feet, watching the door. It was going to be a very long night.

             A sliver of light sneaks through the small window, waking Scott. Rev gives a high pitched whine as he wakes up. CREAK, the door opens. He finds himself looking down the business end of a shot gun. But the assassin isn't looking at him. The assassin is looking around the corner, into the closet. Scott figures the assassin is looking for him.

            Scott scans the room for his rifle. During the night it must have fell down next to him. As the hunter turns the corner, into the closet, Scott pulls the rifle to his shoulder. Just as the man locks eyes with him, he sends a round threw the man's chest. The man falters, but doesn't fall. Another round hits him in the shoulder, and drops the man. The floors echo as the man goes down with a crash.

            Rev sends furious barks and growls at the still body. Scott is left with wide eyes, a pounding heart, and the sense that more people will be coming to kill him. He packs blankets, and water from the small fridge.
            He grabs his pack and disappears into the woods. He awakes the next morning with a kink in his neck. The position he had slept, in the tree, was a terrible idea. His legs fell asleep while laying across the crotch of the tree. Taking a sip of his water rations,"We've got to get out of here Rev." Rev had slept across Scott's legs, making his night even more irritable.
            Scott knew there was a perimeter all the way around the valley. If he could just make it across the line he might have a chance of surviving and making it back to civilization. Just before he was about to crawl his way down the tree, a rabbit was scampering just under tree. Scott grabs the military rifle from beside him and fires. He stops the rabbit in its tracks. After crawling down the tree with all his gear and Rev, he begins to clean the animal. The large fixed blade knife comes in handy. He gives pieces to Rev and himself.
            With a full stomach he begins the journey out of the valley. He spots the perimeter just before night fall. Scott sets up camp and conjures a plan. At complete darkness he readies himself for battle. If he has to fight his way out of this, he will. He fills all of the guns with a fresh supply of ammo. With his empty water bottles he makes silencers, by cutting a hole at the one end, and screwing holes throughout the bottles. After attaching them to his weapons, he's ready.
           Scott goes down into an army crawl. Rev, sensing what to do, copies. They crawl their way until they get about fifty yards away from the barbwire fence. Only one guard is at his post. The small tower was to the left of Scott. If the man were sleeping then he probably wouldn't have been killed. But that piece of lead did its job. The man's head is yanked back as he is struck, and falls to the floor.
           They crawl under the fence and move many yards away from the line before Scott can relax. He had done it. Rev and him could finally start a new life.
           There were a few problems... Scott wasn't afraid to kill, and now he couldn't trust anyone. Who would trust a boy with a over protective dog, and a full set of military weapons. It seemed to Scott, that much too many things have changed. What will happen to his town, and his foster brothers. Surely they be after a escapee, and a teenage murderer...

personal narrative into a movie

main character- shia labuff

Steven- joseph Gordan Levitt

Golf Coach- morgan freeman

kid in purple/black polo- jack black

uncle- kevin james

grandfather- jack nicolson

tiger woods- tiger woods

THE ADDICTION, A personal narrative

            I was about eight years old, when golf first showed itself to me. Sitting in my uncle’s living room, was a glimpse of my future. My uncle had a shaved new haircut and held a freshly opened beer with condensation dripping onto his attire for the get together. He referred to himself as “the coolest uncle ever.” Extremely humorous and almost cocky, he always made me laugh.

 He was reclined in a leather chair parallel from the television, next to my father and grandfather on the sofa, as I leaned on the back of his recliner. “Who is that?” I asked my uncle as we were observing “The Master’s,” on his nicely placed fifty inch TV. With all the excitement and cousins running around, it was amazing to find myself in front of a screen.

                “That’s Tiger Woods, and he’s going to win,” he said quite confidently. From what I’ve heard from my grandpa and father, my uncle’s quite a competitive golfer

                “Why, is he the best?” I stared at the screen as Tiger crushes a ball down the fairway. The fans were screaming, and looking very excited. This didn’t make sense, he wasn’t in first.

                “I’ve never seen anyone better; he’s the best of the best. And he can’t stop winning.” From the moment I saw him I could tell there was something special about this golfer. Woods was tall, strong, confident and a soon to be legend. At this point in my life golf was golf, definitely not a sport. The words boredom, old, and being quiet, came to mind. But Tiger awards a new meaning to these words. Golf became athletic, youthful, and loud.

                If you haven’t heard of Tiger Woods, then you probably don’t live on this planet. Everyone knows who Tiger is, even if you don’t play golf. He has something about him that says winner. If you just turned on a golf tournament and saw all the names, you would recognize Tiger Woods.

                One could say that golf didn’t change me, but Tiger did.

                In the eighth grade, those cleanly cut greens began to lure me in. Summer school is a time for fun, if you’re between the grades of fifth and eighth. Hot as usual, summer was meant for swimming, friends, and playing football. Not for golf, what’s golf? My lovely mother signed me into the darn class of “learning golf.” Sent with an old bag, and a set of hand-me-down clubs, probably made in the early nineteenth century, I was ready.

 Every day we’d get a ride up to the local golf course. It was defiantly not pebble beach. Courses like Pebble Beach, deserve respect when you play on them, this course didn’t come with much. It was still a golf course, and even though respect for the course wasn’t enforced, we did our best to keep it clean.

 It wasn’t too bad; I had a few friends in the class. But they were much more skilled then I. I spent my time hacking at balls, on the range, usually getting more turf then then ball. It would make me incredibly frustrated and tired. The urge of throwing things and screaming came upon me, but this was a golf course. As I struggled, the few friends I had, were allowed to go play on the course. The course taunted and called to me. I’d get my chance…someday.

I continued to work hard and struggle with golf. The next year I signed myself up this time, for a class taught by the course pro. He was a very bright man, with an attitude that complimented it.  I had a few close friends in his program, so I decided to give it a shot. I wasn’t what you would call the “best” player in the group. “I’m not very good,” I told the pro.

“Ah, you’ll be fine, I’ll help you out.” Good, because I sure needed the help. Our practice didn’t start off so great. I couldn’t manage to quite hit the ball, and there was always a little snicker behind me as I did so. I was brutal at almost every aspect in golf, except putting. I had the smoothest stroke, and I was envied by everyone. But to those guys putting was the least important.

 After the first day he could tell that I was significantly less skilled than the others. “Tomorrow morning come in a half an hour early, we’re going to look at a few things.” This told me one thing, I suck at golf. The next morning I started my private lesson. He had me stop hacking at balls and just slow down. He made little tweaks here and there to my swing as we went, and as the weeks went by I felt like a different player. My coach noticed the progress,” You could be a real player, if you keep at it kid.” My progress went unnoticed by the other children.

Soon came the day of the tournament. The night before I couldn’t sleep, my mind was racing. I kept reciting my swing in my pajamas until I was content with my own shadow. As morning came I was ready for a challenge. I headed to the course with a new hat, a clean polo shirt, and my best looking shorts. As soon as I arrived I spent my time on the putting green, perfecting my stroke as best I could. Pink, a ball drops into the cup,” There we go.” I speak quietly to myself under my breath. Another ball drops into the cup, another, and another, until I’m content with the outcome.

I walk gingerly off the spongy surface to lug my bag over to my next destination. I whip out one of my ancient irons to launch a few balls down the range. Staying focused and taking my time, the ball bounces off the face off the club with a newly found purpose. What is this feeling?  Finally, it seems that I’ve struck the ball in the correct manner. I take a few more tries, reenacting my previous shot. This feeling is addictive! I can sense today might be a little more exciting than the others.

“Everyone ready?” I snagged my tools and headed up the winding path to the first tee box. It was a par five, the hardest hole on the course. Waiting for me was the instructor and the tournament rules. Everything is drowned out until I hear, “hey son…would you like to hit first?”

I pull out my highly unpredictable driver and stick a ball and tee in the spongy grass. Taking a few practice swings my hands start to sweat, my mind is sprinting through all that I’ve been taught. I focus on one thing, that addictive spot, the sweet spot. I’m Tiger Woods, I’m going to crush this. “Here we go…” I sweep the club back, up, back down, and… Boom, sweet spot.

“Nice hit, Beautiful!” I can’t stop grinning as that ball flies off the tee. I watch it until it disappears. I keep my head down as we hobble, with our bags, up to the place of my ball. I’m careful to keep my head down, and not to lose concentration. The other two children hit there balls down towards the hole. One of them shanks there’s into the nearest tree, while the other is holding back a grin.

 When we approach my ball I discover it is placed in the most perfect spot. It sat on the top of the slope with a clear shot to the green. I knew if I didn’t put this close then it would be a wasted chance, at a head start. Like pulling a sword from its scabbard, my seven iron is prepared for the task. Taking my traditional pre-swings my mind stays relaxed and calm. But I know in the back of my mind that I can’t mess this up. I pull back the club and come back through with a meaning. Thud. The face of the club smashes its power directly into the turf. That little white ball flies like it has a broken wing, and only makes it half of its intended distance.

Anger sets in as I realize I have repeated my old ways. My cheeks turn a red hue. I cover my eyes with my hat, throw my sword back into its scabbard, and lug the bag back onto my shoulder. My mind scans all that could have gone wrong. It comes up without an answer. After my previous shot the other two children were looking a little amazed. As I they expected more from the guy with the perfect drive.

When we reach the destination of our balls, the boy who had struck his ball near the large pine tree, shot first. He wore an old striped polo, of the colors purple and black. He didn’t have the look of a golfer, and certainly didn’t respect the course like one. His next shot was chucked out into the fairway, similar to the way mine was.

I jogged over to find my ball. I was the next up hit. It was laying on the edge of the fairway. “You’re about a hundred and twenty-seven yards out.” The boy, who had out shot me at our last spot, was peering through an eyeglass of some sort. His name was Steven; I had never spoken to him before. Everyone knew he was arguably the best player in the class. I believed them, judging by his last shot, he’ll for sure make a birdie.

From where I was standing I’d be lucky to have a chance at bogey. A branch, from a small oak tree, hung just in front of where my ball was to fly. If I wanted a chance at the green I would have to fly the ball low under the branch. I would also have to land it short of the green so it would have time to slow down.  Without thinking I go for it. “Whatever happens…happens,” I say to myself. The ball flies off the turf, going just underneath the branch. The branch obstructs my eyesight. I can’t see, I let out a sigh.

“Oh my…Dude!” Steven screams from my left. “Did I really just see that?” He yanks me out from under the tree. “Look,” he says.

“What? Where’s my ball, did you see where it went?” Right now I’m really hoping I didn’t lose my ball. “Dude it was a Titleist…Please tell me you know where it is.”

He was standing there with the dumbest grin on his face. “I know where it is.” Wow this guy is turning out to be kind of a prick. I really didn’t think he would be the one to make fun of someone’s ball being lost forever.

Just then I noticed someone on the green. It was the boy with the black and purple shirt. He had gone unnoticed as I was too concerned about my overpriced ball being lost. “Hey…what is he…?” I asked Steven. We both stared at him. Steven still had a grin from ear to ear. The boy bent over and picked a white ball from the cup.

“What’d you guys each hit?” He held the ball up for us both to see. I couldn’t quite make out the logo.

“Slazenger,” Steven yelled back. “What is it?”

“It’s a Titleist,” The boy said. He looked at it curiously.

“Oh…my.” I sprinted down to the cup to find my little white golf ball being held very gingerly between the hands of the boy, whose name I didn’t even know. Now I knew why Steven had the dumbest look on his face. Now I had it too. He came walking down towards the green lugging his and my golf clubs. As he approached my smile faded as I gave him a shot to the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me it went in?” I glared at him.

“Because…that was amazing.

That day marked a day of a new beginning. It started the addiction of golf.

cheetah = fast guy

           i raced a cheetah in the third heat of regional's. they're always the guys that you know are really fast, yet you still think you have a chance to beat them. this cat wore black spikes, a white jersey and his muscles were bulging. he seemed so calm, like he knew what was about to happen. we would all find out soon who would be lunch for the cheetah.

drill sergent = teacher

        The drill Sergent walked into the room with perfect posture. There was small chatter among the troops. As soon as the Sergent opened her mouth, silence fell  upon everyone. She signaled for a salute. The troops then recited the Pledge of Allegiance. This teacher ran a tight ship, but not all teachers are  like this.