When I was little, I had a friend who had to get Rabies Shots. Her rabbit was being attacked by a dog or a bat or something, and she got bit or scratched or something. I was never really clear on the details because I was too fascinated by the fact that she could have had rabies. Things like throwing water on her to make sure she wasn’t afraid of the nasty wet stuff became a good way of ensuring our friend’s health. If she got mad at us for dousing her in water, it was clear proof she was infected. We were really great friends to her, always looking out for her best interest.
A week or so after she suffered through all the shots, we all went camping on Cape Cod. It was a yearly tradition, and we always had a blast. All of us kids were hanging out, probably planning on doing something like trying to find Narnia in the woods, when the poor rabies girl came out of the bathroom with foam all over her mouth. We ran for our parents, screaming bloody murder. She had foam in her mouth. She was rabid and was going to kill us all! Rip us limb from limb in a bloody massacre. We were in a horror story, not Narnia at all.
Our parents ran to her and figured out that she had just been brushing her teeth and was not in fact going to rip all our throats out. Rabies girl was in tears because we were mean, but can you blame us? We thought we were going to have entrails strewn about the forest. They fed her ice cream, and everything was fine.