The other day, I was watching the latest season of The Virgin River , enjoying its quiet charm and small-town comfort, when something unexpected stirred a memory I usually keep tucked away. A simple sign. “ Beware of Dog.” And a dog suddenly charges at Mel, the nurse, the main character. It’s brief, almost brushed aside in the flow of the story—but for me, it wasn’t just a scene. It was a trigger. That split second of unpredictability, the way calm turns into fear without warning—I felt it in my body before my mind could even process it. For most, it’s just a warning. For me, it’s a feeling. Years ago, I was attacked by a neighbor’s dog—a Rottweiler. There were no signs, no warning, no indication of what could happen in a split second. I was just walking, minding my own business, when he came out of nowhere and lunged at me. I still remember the force. The shock. The fear. I was wearing a loose-fitting jacket that day. That jacket saved me. It...