A few years ago my family decided to take a camping trip to Yellowstone. One night I wanted to take my dog for a walk, so I grabbed his leash and away we went. On our way back to the camp sight my dog, Baxter, saw a squirrel and took off after it.Next thing I knew I was being dragged along the gravel road. When he finally stopped I looked at my knee. Blood was everywhere.
I picked myself up and made it back to the our trailers. My aunt Lucy came out of hers and said, "Oh my gosh! Marqui! Your guts are falling out your knees!" That made my cry harder than the big gash itself did.
She fixed me up just fine... but for the rest of the trip I couldn't do much exploring or swimming. What a drag.
