I’m okay with admitting I’ve been kinda hard on dogs and
their people most of my life. Probably kinda like a lot of folks are kinda hard
on cat people. Despite being (generally) genuinely filled with love for all
living animals, including the human ones, more often than not,
dogs-as-people’s-pets have gotten on my damn nerves. When I lived in Chile,
I was a huge fan of the perros callejeros
(street dogs)-- loved their camaraderie, their pack-ness, their rugged
self-reliance, their dreadlocks, their cunning. They seemed content in their
own right, focused on survival and brotherhood. These guys were cool! They were
not annoying at all! I also loved frequently seeing some tired and dirty
laborer come out of a butcher shop with a bag of bones, to leave them gingerly
near a pack of streetworn perros, or
an old lady gift a wet and shivering street dog with a multicolored handknit
winter wool sweater vest.
But indoor pet dogs in the U.S.A? I’ve seen them as needy, insecure, often
obnoxious to my ears and nose, and generally a tedious aberration of a ‘natural
animal.’ Their owners I have judged as being needy, insecure, often obnoxious,
(and, ha!, possibly even tedious aberrations of natural animals). I’ve looked
scathingly at city-dog-people with their perfect pooches, the modern-day bourgeois
standard. How undignified!-- to stick one’s hand, inside-out into a plastic bag
to pick up dog poo from other people’s yards, and not just for the owner!; for
the dog, for the onlooker, for society as a whole! Like seriously, my thinking
has gone, How have we done this, created these totally fragile, dependent,
frequently adorable, though occasionally vicious little beasts who can’t be
left alone, who we can’t accidentally forget to let be around one of the
incredibly common 60-or-so Fatally Freaking Poisonous Foods to Dogs, whose feet
and fur and teeth we have to protect from
nature, who apparently need every manner of expensive purchased item in
order for us to feel proud of ourselves for taking good care of a creature who we
just want around to help us feel special?? What have we done?*
Sometimes when I’ve identified myself as “not a dog person”
to a dog person, they counter by asking if I am a cat person. I resent that
line of questioning because it seems way too simple and, to my judgmental mind,
lets the Dog Person off the hook: Oh,
she’s a neurotic cat lady so of course she can’t possibly understand the
obvious superiority of dogs. I try not to go there, but sometimes I do
say that I prefer cats but that I don’t, you know, like have a cat. Or I’ll quote my all-animal-loving friend Justine and
say as aloofly and felinely as possible “Cats just know who they are.” Now if
we’ve gotten this far in the tiresome Dog vs. Cat Debate, there is around an
85% chance I will get served my most/least favorite Dogs Over Cats argument:
“They love you no matter what and every time I walk through the door, it’s like
the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to {dog’s name here}!!” Which, to
me, has always been like, yeah, dude--exactly,
case-in-point. Because apparently I’ve seen that as a weakness, the need
for this blind unconditional love creature that treats one’s arrival home as
the most exciting thing to have ever happened ever. It’s felt hollow to me, like seriously what the hell happened to you
that you need this element in your life?
Can’t you just come in and make yourself
some tea? (Uhh, like I said, I’ve been kind of hard on dog people).
So living this summer not just with A Dog Person, but quite possibly The Most Dog Person anyone might ever run into, and her dog, really challenged me in
some core ways. The fact that Kelly is also my oldest (as in longevity of
friendship) best friend, who I love incredibly dearly, and that her dog is a
Very Cool Dog (almost cat-like, could I say?) made the situation: a) at all possible; b) motivating for a new
perspective and c) still pretty challenging.
They arrived in the middle of the night on June 1. I had
worked a long catering event (involving a power outage in the middle of a 300-guest
college basketball coach wedding, and a coworker getting trapped in an elevator
for around an hour) and simply could not keep my eyes open any longer. I fell
asleep in soft anticipation of The Summer Experiment (living with my BFF for
the first time, her living in Kentucky
and not working, me living with a dog). Not too worried about Bela’s arrival. I
had shared a bed with Bela for a night in Chicago
in January and determined she does not a) bark or b) smell bad. And Kelly
assured me she would not be all up in my personal space all the time, “cause
she just doesn’t care.” So around 1 a.m., I awoke and found a text on my phone,
from Kel: Ames, you got a garden hose? Bela
rolled in some shiiit today.
Oh. They arrived soon thereafter and so there we were at 2
a.m. using my neighbor’s garden hose and some Dr. Bronner’s to get the shiiit off Bela before she moved into my
rather smallish apartment for 3 months. We settled down around 3:00, tired but
happy to be together. A little after 4, we were awakened violently by Bela’s
barking sharply out the window facing downtown Murray. Must have seen some country wildlife
she was interested in. (Yep, living a block from downtown, I have seen possums,
raccoon families, and even a red fox strolling down my street). After being
awakened by the barking, and the subsequent fear my neighbors/landlords would
have been awakened and resent me, and also that the barking would be a constant
companion all summer and I would resent everything, I had to pee. The bathroom
smelled strongly of wet dog. There were a lot of wet-dog-smelling hairs around,
sticking to the floor, the wall, the sink. So I’m sitting there kind of doing a
mental review… Barking: Check. Bad dog smells: Check. And then: the third
Dreaded Dog Factor: Bela nuzzles open the bathroom door and bounds right in to
spend some time with me while I urinate. Did I mention I’ve lived alone for the
last 5 years? During which time all the sounds, smells and company in my home
has been completely and thoroughly related to my own biology, habits, desires
and sense of control? Yikes.
Psychology Today has
pointed out recently that in an online survey of over 4,500 people, those who
self-identified as dog people were more “extroverted, agreeable, and
conscientious” compared with cat people who were “more open to experience and
more neurotic” than dog people. Damn. Again with the neurotic.
My quick-and-dirty dabble into dog ownership this summer has
brought a lot out of my subconscious. For example, I now remember saying to my
mom when I was around 13, and really discovering for the first time the ways
humans could mess with each other’s minds, that I “wished we all just had tails
like dogs and get it over with”, that way I could actually know if someone
genuinely liked me or just liked messing with my mind. I recognized then, I
guess, that with dogs, it’s all right
there. Really freaking happy to see you? Ok, you’re definitely gonna know
about that. Dog-tired? Not gonna pretend he’s anything but. Just attacked an
entire loaf of bread you were planning on making the perfect French toast out
of? It’s written all over her face. It reminds me of one of the themes from the
book Mutant Message Down Under, about
the Australian aborigines, who have no problem hearing other’s thoughts (communicating
telepathically) because they have no intention
to deceive. So what the hell is up with my idolatry of the cat’s mysterious
ways? Is it because I’ve always wanted to be more reserved than I have ever
been able to muster? I’ve had enough training to realize that usually what we
feel strongly compelled to hate in another is just an outward representation of
some part of ourselves we haven’t yet brought to light and accepted. Yikes
again. Life this summer with Bela certainly showed me some parts of myself I
hadn’t cared to look at. Like really, truly, what was it about the simple love
of dogs that got under my skin, that seemed false or weak or unworthy? Why did their
devotion make me squirm? What was it about the open-book-ness of dogs that I
couldn’t stand? Have I recognized myself in the spirit of the dog, and
therefore felt critical, almost (ugh) neurotically
so?
Looking at my own way of interacting with those I care about
(particularly through the lens of the mutual therapy Kelly and I did on ourselves
practically every summer night over some combination of wine, beer, popcorn,
pizza and this killer salad we made up), I have been shocked to realize I have
quite a bit of the dog spirit in me—like cannot,
try as I might, keep hidden from people my love/appreciation/admiration of
them. My tail wags wildly. Sometimes it gets me into sticky situations. But I
just keep doing it. Putting it all out there.
Living with my best friend and her best dog this summer was
a lot like a functional, happy family. We teamed it. Make no mistake: Kelly is
the very best dogmom I can ever imagine. (Sometimes even neurotically so! J)
But Bela won me over, no doubt about it. The three of us worked out a color
coded tab system on her collar so Kelly would know each morning if I’d had time
to take her out before leaving for work. We all made decisions together.
Balanced each other out a bit. Kelly won’t cuddle with me (though she is
warming up to hugs), but she and Bela do this freely. Bela and I
developed a
special ball technique with my feet and her nose that is ours alone. I loved
throwing sticks and balls with Kelly and Bela in an empty lot near my house,
and I loved throwing sticks and balls with just Bela when Kelly went out of
town a few weekends. I didn’t let Bela sleep in my bed but I did give her licks
of ice cream off my spoon. I even let her lick my face! I nuzzled my face in
her sweet, dog-smelling fur! And they both (after Bela’s first night) were
incredibly graceful with respecting my personal space. I was able to give and
receive love from an exemplar of a species I have judged. I observed Kelly (who
is possibly more cat-like in her interactions with people) get good practice at
open-book-ness in the safe, loving arms of her dog.
And I’ve noticed that I look at dogs way differently now.
Like, I literally look at them
differently; my eyes move differently across the landscape when a dog enters
it. I notice a dog’s carriage (and know to call it that, cause Kelly taught me),
its tail movement, whether it likes eye contact or no, the relationship it
seems to have with its person. I don’t think I’ll ever be “into dogs” the way
Kelly is into dogs. I don’t think she’ll ever wait on the phone for me as I
greet each and every canine I come into
contact with, in the most personal, energetic, and loving way. I don’t
think I’ll ever adopt a dog into my home permanently. But if Kelly moved to Italy for a
season, I’d consider Bela as a roommate. And my level of judgment towards dogs
and dog people has gotten a serious beat-down. It isn’t gone completely, but
I’m onto it. I know it’s a lot more about me than it is them.
*Thank
you, Dog People, for helping take care of the millions of dogs we have created
to be dependent upon our care. Thank God I’m enough of a cat person and “open
to new experiences” to take all this in. I am grateful for things learned.
Thank you, Kel. Thank you, Bela.
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