I’m not talking about you, of course, but pet
owners can be so annoying. Oh, I know what you’re thinking-that I just don’t
understand and that, clearly, I have never experienced the joy of pet
ownership. To that I say you may have a point. But, seriously, why the need for
a bumper sticker that proclaims: “I love
my Labrador Retriever”? Are you hoping
that fellow Labrador enthusiasts will feel a kinship towards you and avoid
rear-ending your car? Or, are you hoping
they will pull up next to you at a traffic light to chat about Labs? I don’t get it…And I also don’t understand
people who plaster pictures of their pets all over their office (or cubicles)
at work. They have dozens more pictures
than I have of my kids (does that make me a bad mother? do they enjoy making me
feel inferior?) And they always want to
tell you stories, lots of stories
about how brilliant, charming and adorable their pet is and why their pet
should perform on the Letterman show.
Well, I need to set the
record straight: I have indeed owned pets and have even lived with other
people’s pets. In fact, my favorite
roommate in college also happened to own my least favorite cat in the world.
This cat hissed and nipped at me any time I encroached on his territory, which
apparently was the entire apartment with the exception of my room. I tried to win him over, but he was
unimpressed. The most amazing thing was how oblivious my roommate was to her
cat’s open hostility. She explained that
he liked me-he was just being “standoffish.”
When I was a kid, my father
brought home a Basset Hound and named him Boris. He was kind of cute, in a
droopy sort of way, (the dog, not my father) but, if Boris liked us, he kept it
to himself. He also had one particularly
unendearing quality, he smelled terrible! And no amount of bathing could change
that. Naturally, my mother didn’t want him in the house, except at night when
he slept in the utility room-with the door tightly closed. Undaunted, my father
bought Boris a dog house. If Donald Trump decided to keep an outside dog, he
would buy this exact dog house. It had all of the amenities, including
indoor/outdoor carpet and a fan, and it was huge! Our tree house wasn’t half as nice, not that
I harbor any resentment. Well, not anymore. My Dad was so proud of that dog
house that he actually took people outside to take a tour.
One day, it was pouring like
it would never stop. My dad looked out the window and then slammed his coffee
cup down. “Unbelievable! Boris is standing
out in the rain! Why doesn’t he go in his dog house?” My dad marched outside and, while we watched
through the window, he tried to show Boris how to go into the doghouse by
crawling on all fours and going into it himself. Boris just stood there as the
rain pelted him from every direction. Frustrated, my dad proceeded to
half-carry, half-shove the recalcitrant hound into his palatial home. But, as
soon as Boris was inside, he turned around and walked out again. After spending
an hour in the rain trying to keep the
dog from getting wet, my Dad came in the house, exhausted and soaked to the
bone, muttering, “What a stupid dog…”
Soon after that, we had to
give Boris away due to his other bad habit, which we didn’t even know he
had. One after another, our neighbors
began calling to complain. It turned out that when we weren’t home, Boris
howled non-stop. He was so loud, he was scaring their children. They couldn’t hear their TV sets even with
the windows closed. So it was “Bye bye Boris,” we hardly knew you.
And don’t think my
experience with pet ownership ended there.
No Sir, it did not. When our boys were young, they convinced us that we
needed a dog. Foolishly, we decided to rescue a dog from Animal Control, not
realizing that our chance of finding a normal dog there was practically zero.
As it turned out, cute little Sunny was in a class by himself- a little
Cock-a-Poo with a big problem. It wasn’t a problem for him, it didn’t faze him
a bit, but when Sunny received anything more than a passing glance, he became
so excited that he wet the floor. Sadly, we could only be friendly to Sunny
when we were outside; inside, we had to maintain a cool cordiality from a safe
distance.
We were prepared to live
with Sunny’s strange quirk if it hadn’t been for his other issues. First, he
started snapping at non-existent flies; then he started licking his left front
paw incessantly for no apparent reason (although I’m sure he had an excellent reason for snapping at
imaginary flies). The vet prescribed Prozac for his OCD (yes, dogs can have
OCD), but it didn’t help. Soon after that, Sunny started jumping up on the
table and peeing on the mail (on purpose!) and he had to go.
Several peaceful, pet-free
years passed and our memories faded to the point that when our youngest son
begged for a dog for his birthday, we capitulated. Somehow, we ended up with
not one but two dogs, sisters named Abby and Phoebe. Vivid memories of Sunny
suddenly returned and we waited for the nightmare to begin again but now times
two! We waited and waited and…nothing happened. Well, something happened. We
discovered that we had two perfectly house-trained dogs who were sweet and
good-natured and only barked at the mailman. Soon, we learned how brilliant,
charming and adorable they could be and so clever that they were sure to be on
the David Letterman show one day. I just happen to have some pictures, would
you like to see them?
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