Dogs I Loved, Feared, and Tolerated

Why I Am Not Really a Dog Person

For my fourth birthday, I received a Pomeranian puppy. Rocky was a good doggie. I remember I used to squat down into a crawling position with my head to the floor, and he would pounce on my head and nibble on my thick hair. He was an inside dog, but he enjoyed romping around outdoors when we moved across the state line to the country home where we lived for most of my childhood. I was heartbroken when he was struck by a vehicle and killed.

Our family’s next dog was a collie named Corky. He was a car chaser. Corky met his fate while my parents were on a brief getaway, and my sister and I were in the care of my older cousin. A neighbor from down the road was speeding by, as usual, and the three of us all witnessed the horrible accident. The truck was fine, but Corky was not. The neighbor – and I can still see his face – stopped, picked up Corky by the legs, and hurled him into the ditch. All he said was, “I knew that dog was gonna get hit,” while we stood and sobbed.

We had a few other family pooches before I left home – Benji, the beagle who liked to eat his and other animals’ poop; Pierre and Jenny, yippy little poodles who were privileged to live indoors; and Pokey, a border collie-poodle mix. Looking back, I am sad for poor Pokey; he was chained up near his house at the edge of our property and given little attention.

I liked having pets, but I was never a fan of anyone else’s dogs. When I was five, I was bit by a new mama. I believed I could talk to her in a soft voice to assure her I would do no harm to her pups. I reached out my hand, and she chomped down on my pointer finger. My scar is a straight line from where I pulled my finger out of her clenched teeth.

When we lived in the country, our next-door neighbors had German Shepherds – a couple over the years. They never hurt me, but their barking and growling still made me uneasy. What haunted me the most, though, were a couple of occasions when I rode my bike down a dirt road where a family had two Dobermanns that chased me. They scared the bejesus out of me. I remember how my heart raced and my legs went weak as I tried to pedal faster on that gravel road. I learned to take new routes for biking after that.

Later, I had no fear of being a pet parent. I knew that if we raised an animal, we would be able to trust it. Dee and I wanted our daughters to know the joy of having a family pet. When they were young, we rescued a sweet mutt named Suzy. I would never have named a pet that, since I had an Aunt Susie and a sister-in-law Suzanne, but the dog was already named when we acquired her, and we did not have the heart to change her name. Suzy was a typical naughty pup. Before we decided to crate her when we were at work, she would use my blue jeans and tennis shoes as chew toys. We still loved her dearly. She lived fourteen years and grew up with our girls.

Mason was our only other dog, a registered full-blood golden retriever, whose formal name was Mason the Noble. I had to convince my husband that we could breed the dog to recuperate our investment for him to agree to the expense. We never did. Mason was the first dog ever allowed on our bed … until he grew to the point that our queen mattress became too crowded. About the same time, we stopped allowing him on the furniture too. We were strict doggie parents.

When Mason was just three years old, my husband and I worked long hours. Dee had a full-time job in addition to his own business, which kept him away for most of his waking hours. I experienced a long stretch of mandatory seven-day workweeks, which made it very difficult for me to be a good dog mommy. After leaning on my oldest daughter and her husband to make daily late-afternoon visits to let Mason outside, we realized they would be much better dog parents. They welcomed Mason on their furniture, and they spoiled him.

Now, I avoid dogs when possible. If I pet someone’s dog or speak to it, I am typically just humoring them and demonstrating that I am not a bad guy, all the while hoping the animal does not chomp on my arm. I am most content if they stay out of my personal space. The feeling of dog slobbers on my skin completely grosses me out. And no dog kisses allowed.

Both of our girls and their families are dog lovers, so we have two granddogs. I do not dislike them; I tolerate them. I try to hide my fear of dogs, but it still exists. Being a long-time user of blood thinner heightens my worry of being bitten. Maybe I am just trying to justify my feelings about dogs. Honestly though, if I bleed to death, I want to go out doing something thrilling and adventurous and not as the victim of a stinky, slobbery pooch.