This is my dog Max. He's not red or yellow or black. He's gray with brown speckles all over his body. Max is a big dog. He is so big that he accidentally knocked over my two-year-old baby sister with his long bushy tail. But Max would never hurt any of us kids on purpose; he loves us. When he found out that he had knocked over my baby sister, he turned and licked her face with his big pink slobbery tongue. One day, my dad brought home a long fat piece of rope. I asked Dad what the rope was for. He said I should let Max take one end of the rope in his mouth and I should hold on tightly to the other end. That didn't seem like fun, I thought, as I stood there holding the limp rope. Y_A_N_K, J_E_R_K, P_U_L_L, Max took off with the rope tightly gripped in his shinny white teeth and dragging me right behind him through the soft green grass.
"Whoa, Max! Whoa," I hollered. Max wouldn't stop. My little brother, who was four, ran after me and Max. My little brother grabbed the rope with me to stop max, but Max pulled us both, easily, through the green grass.
"Whoa, Max! Whoa," we shouted. But Max was having too much fun. Then It happened, there was a tree and Max was heading right for it. "Stop, Max! Stop!" I cried. It was too late. Max went around the tree, but my little brother and I hit our heads on the tree trunk. "Ouch! That hurt," I said as I rubbed my head. My little brother began to cry.
Max stopped and looked back at me rubbing my head and my little brother crying. Max put his head down and whined. He slowly walked over to us and began to lick our faces. It wasn't long until we were, once again, laughing and playing with Max and that long fat piece of rope.