On Being (or not being) a Dog Person

I am not a dog person. Even as I write those words I feel like I should be cast in a dark shadow with a digitally altered voice as I’m being taken away to a witness-type protection program where I would be assigned a new identity. It would probably need to be in some obscure society that would not ostracize me for my aberrant views.

I want to be a dog person, or at least have wanted to be at various times in my life, some very recently. I think I should be a dog person, after all I live alone and dogs are touted to be both companion and protector. Dog people seem to have something that we non-dog people are missing. They look at their four legged friends with loving devotion that surpasses my understanding. Think about it, who in their right mind finds joy in picking up poop and putting it into a plastic bag, daily – multiple times? Only after rigorous training to get them to do that bodily function outside on a regular basis. I have a friend that has a one year old dog that still refuses to comply. Not to mention chunks of dry wall that have been eaten off the wall, along with area rugs, shoes and electrical cords. When I walk on the boardwalk I feel like the dog people have something that I’m missing. There is an immediate bond that appears to deepen as their furry friends meet one another, smelling and sometimes licking each other in publicly inappropriate places, a practice that seems to make owners smile and bond even more.

Dogs are demanding of both time and finances, beyond replacing the afore mentioned dry wall, area rugs, shoes and electrical cords. Along with time spent on daily care, being away from home for a day requires consideration of time in order to get home to the dog left behind on his or her own. And an extended absence of days or weeks requires getting a doggie motel room at a kennel adding considerable cost to a vacation. Other costs equally flummox me. Doggie haircuts cost more than my human ones and a doctor’s appointment costs far more than my going to a doctor and paying my co-pay. I think they actually cost more than going to the human doctor with no insurance. I’m talking about regular type medical care but add to that the cost of neutering, micro-chipping, etc. I would need to find a job to support my furry little habit. On top of that, there is the cost of puppy kindergarten and more advanced training, along with the myriad of designer supplies available at pet shops and discount stores, such as leashes, collars, and even complete outfits of clothing for most any occasion or holiday. I even saw a dog paraphernalia booth at a recent art fair. Can you believe that someone actually sits around every day making clothing and “stuff” for dogs?

But in confession, I have tried to be a dog person, several times. The first was about seven years ago. Being lonely, I perused the classified ads and found a used dog, one and a half years old, neutered and house broken and only $150. I visited the dog and decided he was just what I needed. But I got him home and I think I found some of the reasons they were willing to tearfully part with this precious little thing and give me such a deal. Among other things that I can’t remember, he would not walk on a leash and habitually ran away from home every chance he got. After finding him and bringing him home a few times, the last time I let the people who found him and wanted him keep him. Even though I was out $150 dollars and feeling like a failure, I breathed a sigh of relief and admitted to myself that I was not a dog person and would never go there again. That resolve lasted about five years until someone at work put out an email, with pictures, that she had a one year old dog to give away to a good home – neutered and housebroken. Pictures should be illegal. I couldn’t resist that fluffy little thing in the photos and went for a visit forgetting there is a reason that people are willing to generously give away such a gem. After my visit, I took him on a test run to visit my grandchildren. After he peed on my car seat, and cowered behind my legs in fear on their front porch and peed on my feet, I took him home and announced I was smitten and wanted to take him to live with me after I returned from my vacation in a week and a half. Before I left I took one more grandchild with me to visit the pooch and when one of his college aged owners picked him up, this housebroken mutt proceeded to pee on her. I decided that while he might be housebroken he obviously had no compunction about urinating any other place he wanted, preferably on human beings. After a few more days of hand wringing and ridden with profound guilt, I took the easy way out emailing the owner that I had changed my mind and breathing a sigh of relief, once again swearing I would never go there again.

Unbelievably amnesia set in about a year later when in one of those moments, again I picked up the Grand Haven Tribune and flipped to the Pets section of the classified. There was a 10 month old poodle and something cute and fluffy mixed, neutered, micro-chipped, house broken and free to a good home and I was off and running again on my quest to become a dog person. This even after my daughter fulfilled a promise I exacted from her last time to tell me “NO”. A 15 minute visitation later and being assured that other potential adopters were waiting breathlessly in the wings, I scheduled a pick up time for the following day, giving the current owners time to say their goodbyes. I wish I could remember the dog’s name but I think I blank the names from my mind in an effort to erase some of my guilt. I do remember it was something that I felt needed to be changed to something that better fit the dog and me.

The fluffy little bundle came home with me, along with his crate, leashes, toys, food, dishes and a little bell that hung on the door knob to be rung when he wanted to go outside. And ring it he did, constantly. I’m not sure what did it, but reality set in quickly along with the continual bouncing and begging to be outside. Less than 48 hours later when a non-dog friend asked me about my puppy, I broke down crying with the words, “I don’t think I’m a dog person”. After she hugged me and assured me I was not a terrible person I knew I had to undo what I had done. The only right thing was to call the previous owners who had already asked for visitation privileges and thus would have known if I had done the cowardly thing and given him to someone else. I was so thankful when she insisted it was okay to bring him back, I once again dissolved into tears which grew into great gulping sobs by the time I handed him over at her door. The tears were from shame at returning the dog, but also from a sense of failure at not being a dog person.
Yes, I still read the pet section of the classifieds, almost daily. Sometimes I yearn. Only once has my daughter had to utter the requested “NO” to me. Hopefully I won’t find the “perfect” puppy again when I’m in “one of those moods”. I either need to strengthen my resolve or have a tattoo applied to the center of my forehead that says “I am not a dog person”. Then maybe a dog person would rethink giving me their “free to a good home”.