Descriptive Essay On A Dog

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When I was five, my parents bought a dog. He was a Lab-mix, half-black and half-brown, with pointed ears, short legs, and wild, hungry eyes. About a week after my father came home with him from the airport, the five-pound bundle of destructive energy single-handedly tore apart one of the bean-bag chairs in the family room. When we found him covered in white tufts, rolling in the carcass of his recently decimated prey, both my brother and I found it apt to change his name from Chase to Spaz. It suited the ravaging look on his small, adorable face. He would continue to bolster his name throughout the next few years. Time and time again, his canine hijinks would result in the destruction of one or more pieces of furniture, a universal TV remote, multiple stuffed animals from my sister’s collection (possibly seen as potential rivals), and about a hundred rolls of unwinded toilet paper. Obviously, we would come to learn, Spaz wasn’t a dog who was meant to be kept in a house — or anywhere near man-made edifices, for that matter. It fell upon my brother and I, the ones who named him so appropriately, to exercise the demons out of the small pup by taking him on an extensively long walk every day. For the most part, Spaz enjoyed the walks — my feet and ankles did not. We lived near Lake Mohegan at the time, a beautiful 170 acre wilderness located in the center of rural Greenfield Hills. The lake itself covered only half of the of the area’s natural expanse — the other half, which
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