by Drew Miller

Created on: January 06, 2009

Bullies are like that drunk uncle who ruins every birthday by passing out and/or vomiting on the birthday boy - every family has one. When I was in sixth grade, my best friend's dad was the bully in their family. He was never physically violent, but often set up booby traps in the hallways of their house. My friend would come to school smelling heavily of garlic. I'd ask him, "Vampires?" But he'd shake his head. "My dad," he would mutter. On the playground in middle school, the bully was an extremely masculine girl who went by "Sammy." (As if the lines weren't blurry enough as it was.) She would hand out summons when she wanted to deliver a beating - if she wanted to pound on you, you would go to her. This was a common exchange on the playground:

"Hey, Fred, you want to play some kickball?"

"Nah, I got a date with Sammy."

Those bullies were more typical than mine were, though. In my family, our bully was my dog. Honestly.

Gracie was the most unassuming bully you'd ever meet. Not only because of the fact that she was a dog, but also because of how gosh darn cute was she. A forty-five pound collie mix, she was the prettiest little puppy when we got her. She wasn't evil upon arrival, though. She was cute and playful. She fell asleep in our arms. And she didn't even cry at night.

Little did we know, it was because she was up all night.

Planning.

Watching.

Waiting.

Gracie's first act of terror was hard for us to believe. We got up one morning and EVERY morsel of food was gone from our cupboards. Even from the ones up high, where there was no way on earth for little Gracie to reach them. The whole family stared at her, but she just wagged her tail. What could we do? Punishing her now would be pointless; she wouldn't understand what she was being punished for. So we all just wrote it off as growing pains. But in the back of my mind, an alarm was going off.

Another time, Gracie was staring patiently at my dad as he ate a slice of pizza at the counter. Obviously, she shouldn't have it; this was people food (though my dad could probably have stood to skip the pizza, too). She whined and begged, but my dad was firm, (unlike his gut). However, Gracie wasn't about to take no for an answer. She began growling at my dad, who was much, much larger than she was. She backed him all the way to his bedroom upstairs, looking more and more like Cujo instead of Lassie. Eventually my dad lost his nerve and just tossed her the pizza.

It was always about food with Gracie. My most vivid memory

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