Big Jim hates me. I can tell by the way his upper lip curls, his nostrils flare, and his ears flatten against the back of his head every time I come near him.
“Steady, boy.” I approach him timidly, my hand reaching to stroke his soft nose. He snorts and throws his head up out of my reach.
“For heaven’s sake, take hold of his bridle. He won’t bite!” my dad yells.
Dad is wrong. Big Jim bit me once. His large grinders didn’t come into contact with my skin, but the sleeve of my shirt showed proof that they had connected.