They say dogs can sense fear. They say dogs play with the most scared person in the room. They say the dog is just having fun. Well I’m not having fun, I’m living a nightmare.
Whenever I’m in a room with a dog, I can promise you I’m the most scared, and any dog can sense it. I’m not a fan of dogs, they’re not a fan of me. When I visit a house with a dog, I’m hopeless. I’ll try to hide the fact that I’m deathly afraid, but the truth is I’m as tense as someone with a two by four up theirs.
Traumatic Moment - I was bit by a dog in 3rd grade. I tried to put the bowl of food real close to the dog, and it simply protected its bowl but biting my hand. I went from a cocky younger brother to a sulking scared little boy. I remember distinctly looking at the bite mark. His canine had pierced the fat of my palm, and I looked quickly to survey the damage. As I stared into my hand I could see my purple muscles and fibers as blood had yet to fill the wound. I kept looking as if I were seeing a poster from biology class, and as I tried to make sense of the situation, I almost fainted.
Running Encounters - I also run quite often. Dogs hate intruders and perceive runners as intruders. Just ask any mailman how dogs treat them. And I know exactly what they’re talking about. Now that I run farther than before, I like getting out to rural roads. You know the scenes with hard packed gravel roads, hay bales, and no electric fences. Every dog feels obligated to protect their turf. So they lurk out in the front yards and wait until we’re vulnerable and then hop out and start barking. I guess they’re alerting their owner that some measly runner is close to the property. And they don’t leave either. They bark constantly, and tail you, and all in all pester you. Some critics claim the dog just wants to play. Well that’s the last thing I want to do. I’m just trying to run on a public road bite-free.
From my first bite to every running encounter I have with dogs, our relationship has not improved. I make it very clear to my friends and acquaintances that I don’t mix well with dogs. And normally I make the drastic claim that I don’t like dogs. Almost everyone is completely shocked by this. Whoa, really, what about (name random dog breed that I don’t know)? Nope don’t like them either, and they won’t like me. Well then there’s always someone in the room that says this,
“Well what about my dog? You like my dog, don’t you”
Non-discriminatory - I’m sorry, I don’t. I don’t discriminate at all. I don’t like your dog, your neighbor’s dog or anyone else’s dog. Most people can’t reconcile this. They can’t fathom how someone could not love their pride and joy as they do. Well it’s pretty simple. You’ve built so many memories with your dog, and your dog is nice to you. It’s the concept that you believe something you own is more special than anything else. You value the memories and experiences with your thing, and you can’t see why someone else wouldn’t value those as highly as you do.
House Metaphor - It’s comparable to when you’re selling a house. If you’ve lived in the house for 20 years, you probably love everything about it and overvalue everything. When in fact, there are still flaws with the house, and the market values the house significantly less than you, because the next owner doesn’t care how many thanksgivings you’ve had there, or that the house has only had one owner since 1980. It cares about kitchens, bathrooms, and modern appliances.
After someone unwillingly accepts that I’m not a fan of their dog, I tell them that the dog who bit me was “My Dog” to Stephen. That his dog had never bit anyone before, but his dog had never met me before either.
So treasure the memories you have with “your dog,” but don’t assume that everyone is going to love your dog like you do, especially Miko.
No comments:
Post a Comment