When I was 15, my sister Carla Whitstine and I went fishing in the lake that we lived on in Louisiana. On this day I decided to take our little dog Dino. He was about a 6 pound mix breed; I don't know what with, but he was ours. We had been fishing for a little while, when I caught the first bass of the day on a crankbait. It was about a 2 pounder.

As I got the bass in the boat, Dino went stir crazy, barking and running all over, sniffing and checking out the fish. Well, at that time the fish flopped and Dino, I suppose, took it as a threat and snapped at the fish. Well, the fish ended up with the last word as the treble hooks from the crankbait ended up in Dino's nose with the fish on the other end.

Dino was yelping and hollering and the fish began to flop again and he yelped even more. I grabbed Dino and the fish to separate the two. I got the fish off and threw it back into the water, but the hooks were buried in Dino's nose and blood was pouring out. As I was holding Dino, I guess he had a flashback of the event that had just occurred with the fish and the treble hooks. The next thing I knew, the treble hooks were buried deep into my thumb with Dino still on the other end.

Carla was paddling home as fast as she could while Dino yelped and I screamed as we were pulling against each other. It sounded like I was killing Dino one minute and the next minute, Dino was trying to kill me. It seemed like it took forever for us to get to the house. My Mom and Dad loaded me and Dino into the car and headed to town. We dropped Dino off at the vet and they took me to the emergency room.

Dino wouldn't go fishing with me anymore after that, nor I with him. Anytime I brought up a fish, he still went stir crazy but he did so leaving the yard as fast as he could.