Someone once told me that heroes are only found in fairytales. The

people we as humans have labeled heroes are just acting on impulse in the

right place at the right time, following the direction of their flowing

adrenaline. I have pondered this theory many nights lying in bed as the

crickets sing outside in the damp evening grass, and Ive thus concluded

this hypothesis incorrect. A hero is certainly not a normal being, especially

not after witnessing a loved one lay his life on the line to saver something

in heart, he knew was very special to you.

At the tender age of seven, my only real friends were my mom, dad, and my

beautiful dog Buzz, a big burly hound dog that followed me around everywhere

I went. My father and I along with Buzz would spend our winter weekends at

our house in Hunter Mountain ice fishing and sometimes, my dad would even let

me sink in a few hunting lessons, though he didnt like me to be around guns.

I loved to watch the excitement in his eyes not when he caught fish but when

I did, and the way Id hug Buzz and hold up my prize for him to poke his

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