I’ve never been a dog person. The term ‘dog person’ is
tough to define without alienating people and generally creating strife for
yourself as dog people are quite loyal to themselves, their pack, and of course
their co-pilot dogs. In the past, when I’ve told people that ‘I am not a
dog person’ it’s been followed by looks of scorn (it’s Colorodo) and the
assumption I am a communist. I haven’t seen or felt fervor at this level
on an issue since the Coldwar and the universal distrust of the Soviets we
shared as kids. So eventually, I just stopped saying I wasn’t a dog
person and began explaining in more precise terms what I didn’t like about
dogs:
For one, I’ve never trusted anything that is ‘that’ happy to
see me. It means the thing in question either wants something or well, doesn’t
know me that well.
Two, I don’t pick up poop. It’s Article #23 of my
personal constitution - sandwiched between Article #22 (don’t eat your boogers)
and Article 24 (don’t trust people that brush their teeth at lunch).
Three, I am generally scared of dogs (or canines) – noting
that the largest teeth in any mouth are actually named for these creatures.
This third factor by way of background is grounded in my experiences as a child
as I was chased by a 180lb canine named George for several years of my life.
George was a St. Bernard, and not the kind with the small
barrel cutely attached to its collar.
I suspected that George’s small barrel had once been filled with bourbon
and that he had consumed it in a series of mad swigs…followed by a smashing of
the barrel on his furry forehead. Regardless,
George’s house was positioned between my house and a few of my friends’ homes,
requiring that we ride our banana seat Schwinns past George’s lair of terror at
a very specific breakneck speed to ensure survival. Certain details are
sketchy, but I seem to remember that the precise speed to pass George’s house
without certain destruction was exactly 32.4 mph, the upper limit for both the
wheel set and frame of my 45 pound electric blue transporter.
On occasion, a member of our peloton of terror wouldn’t make
it. One of my friends has a particularly fond memory of hitting some gravel in
front of George’s house at approximately 31.5 mph (note: not the required
speed) and fishtailing back and forth…and, in slow motion, going over his
handlebars. As my friend recalls,
he flew through the air in a suspended state of horror and noticed two things….
#1 – the sight of George lumbering up the driveway smelling like bourbon and #2
– the glance I gave him over my shoulder while I continued to pedal
furiously. Thus, I learned at an early
age what my limits of friendship were – ‘yes, I will help you move’ but, ‘no, I
will not save you from a large St. Bernard if you fall of your bike’. This isn’t the Army, I will leave you
behind and I may not even tell your mother.
As you can see, I have some doggie baggage. I’d been looking for away to shed these
dog demons for some time when it occurred to me…why don’t I just go out and buy
a dog? So, that’s what I did – 7 pounds of French Bulldog puppy is
currently curled up on my couch (note – I am not a Francophile and thought of
calling her a Freedom Bulldog). Her name is Rosebud….yes, like the sled.
To date, I’ve noticed a few things about Rosebud and dogs
generally:
1. Dogs make an unsettling amount of eye contact. While Cats will throw you a glance and
carry on their way to destroy something you love or wait for you to fall down
the steps….dogs just stare at you. My dog does this so constantly that it
reminds me of the movie Castaway - she is my tiny Wilson. The
psychology of being constantly stared at is quite deep and leads me to odd
behavior like… making random small talk with the dog, making funny hand
gestures to the dog, or occasionally growling. I’ve found I like growling
and the dog seems to as well.
2. People like puppies. This may be obvious
but I had no idea how much talking one needs to do with total strangers when
toting around a puppy. I’ve had people get off their bikes, stop their cars,
and leave there children unattended on the corner all to come pet this small
thing attached to the end of the rope I am holding. I am not
accustom to this much small talk on the street and to be honest, I am not sure
I am all that good at it. For one, I am still a newbie dog person and am
excited to communicate all of my newly found canine observations. Take
the following recent interaction,
Blonde Girl on Sidewalk – “Wow, she is SOOOO SWEEET, I
just love her ears and oh my, she is so SMART and so <insert dog adjectives
here>”.
Me – “yep, she sure is cool. Do you know I can
tell when she is going to poop because her behind looks a bit like a lifesaver
right before she’s going to go?” <insert awkward silence>.
3. Despite all the hubbub, having a puppy is ‘not’ like
having a child. Children will turn on you.
Rosebud is growing on me. There goes the lifesaver, I gotta run.
