Personal Narrative Essay: Is Bravery A Hero?

Bravery is considered a heroes’ trait. It’s seen in all the stories; the hero marches through every seemingly insurmountable obstacle, overcoming the unthinkable with overwhelming displays of valor. They are able to do this even if it looks impossible, even if they are scared, because they often have no other choice; they can either duck their heads and take what’s coming, or they can take action and try to turn things to their advantage. Bravery can be a choice, and this is something I learned firsthand as a child.
This event took place when I was about eight years old while I was spending the weekend at my grandma’s house. I was old enough to play in the backyard without constant supervision, and trusted enough to keep an eye on my younger cousin, who was barely more than a toddler at the time. She and I were spending the afternoon sitting on the small wooden bridge over the shallow ditch, scooping snails and minnows out of the mucky water with a miniature insect net and

plopping them into a plastic pail we’d taken from the sandbox. The pond scum had been thick that day, and I’d cleared it by swirling it along the end of a long dead branch. We weren’t supposed to play in the dirty water, but we were in full view of the house (which was the number one rule for playing outside), and I reckon my grandma was just grateful that we weren’t being noisy.
We were both very focused on our creature collecting, so I’m not sure what inspired me to look up from the water.

I hadn’t heard any noise, so maybe it was instinct, or else just happy coincidence. Whatever the reason, I found my eyes locked on a dog – the neighbor’s Rottweiler, and he was maybe fifteen feet away. He wasn’t a friendly dog. Every time I had seen him, he’d been snapping and snarling, lunging to the end of his leash as if to get at anyone near. The icing on the cake was the fact that he’d bitten his owner’s brother’s head recently. We kids had always been told to keep away from him, and this usually wasn’t a problem. He was always kept either in his house or on a leash, but on this day he was alone, and there was no leash in sight. He’d crept up on my cousin and I while we’d had our attention elsewhere, and now that he’d seen that I noticed him, he snarled. My body started to buzz with panic. I’ll never forget the fear I felt then, knowing that this animal wanted to hurt

us.
The noise alerted my cousin. Now we were both having a stare-down with a large angry dog who weighed more than the two of us combined. I stood slowly, pulling my cousin up with me. I was afraid that if we stayed sitting, he would bite our heads. My first instinct was to start running, but it was a good forty feet between us and my grandma’s back door. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it before the dog got me, and if I couldn’t make the run, my cousin definitely couldn’t. She was very quiet and still, and I wondered if she felt as I did – that there wasn’t the air to scream. The dog hadn’t come any closer since the stand-off began, but that could change any moment. I had to think quickly. There was no place to take refuge in; the nearby shed was locked, and neither of us girls could climb trees. I was afraid he’d attack us if we started screaming. I was even more afraid that he’d treat us like prey if we took off running, that he’d give chase and kill us; but it was out of the question to keep standing here. We would have to risk it and run for the house.
As nervous as I was that the dog would hurt me, my cousin was a bigger worry. As easy as it would have been for me to race to the house and save myself, I knew I couldn’t. She was smaller than me, and I was responsible for her, and there was no way I could let her get hurt. I was between her and the dog, and Grandma’s house was on her side of the ditch. She could make it if I helped a little. I bent calmly for the pond scum stick, keeping my eyes on the posturing dog. His eyes followed every move I made. After I straightened, I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Run fast to the house and get grandma.” She took off screaming, but I couldn’t watch her progress and the dog at the same time. He’d chosen to make his move now that she’d made hers, and he was quickly closing the distance between us. I brandished the long, green-coated stick at him, hoping to ward him off. He was barking and snapping at the end of it in no time, and I jabbed it at his face, trying to get him to back up. My cousin’s screams sounded distant by then. I threw the stick hard and turned to run, knocking over the tadpole bucket.
My mind was blank but for the thought of reaching the house. I ran harder than I’d ever run in my life. Everything felt numbed and muffled; I could only just hear the dog behind me, could barely feel the breath in my lungs. I was distantly aware of the fact that I was screaming. My eyes were locked on that back door in a sort of tunnel vision. I had managed to give my cousin a decent head start, and she reached the door five steps ahead of me. I caught the edge before it had fully closed behind her, and threw myself into the house. I turned to see the dog bounding to the door, mere feet behind me. I don’t remember much beyond that, aside from incredible relief. For as tense as the situation was, it all took place over the course of maybe two minutes.
I know it was because of me that my cousin ended up safe. It was because I stayed back and told her to run ahead that dog didn’t hurt her. It was sheer luck on my part that I was able to outrun that dog and didn’t get hurt myself. I knew all of this then, but at the time, I hadn’t felt particularly heroic or brave. I just felt frightened and desperate. The moment I saw the dog, I knew that I was the only thing standing between someone even more helpless than me and that danger, and that it was up to me to do something about it.
My family was proud that I’d thought things through, and that I hadn’t just blindly run away and possibly left my cousin behind. My cousin doesn’t remember any of this happening, but I always will. Even though I know the majority of dogs aren’t as aggressive as that one, I can’t help but feel nervous around them. Still, good things came from that day. I know now that I have it in me to put others ahead of myself. I know that I have a good pair of legs that can carry me away from danger, and a mind that can come up with a plan even when it’s at its worst. I have the ability to make the decision to be brave.