Who Let the Dogs In

I don't like dogs. There, I've said it.

                              

Their barking is annoying. They leave dirty paw marks on my couch and pee on my carpet. They jump up on me uninvited when I visit their homes and they leave hair on my black pants. I don't like dogs. I get the stink- eye when I bring this subject up so I usually don't. Silent snarls from people who then cross me off their Christmas card list. I realize that I share this opinion with an extremely small, unpopular group of people who have been ostracized to the non-conformist corner of the room. The same corner we send the cigarette smokers and mac-users to. It's OK. I'm comfortable there. Don't judge me.

Over the last several years we have seen an un-precendented increasing popularity of the breed canine. In a world where we kill babies and save the kangaroo rat this should come as no surprise. And we are not content with only one dog, we must have at least 3. And we must buy bacon flavored dog food for them, hang bandanna kerchiefs around their necks, create parks exclusively for them, establish doggie daycare centers for them and even buy leopard print doggie-snuggies for these furry babies to keep their iddy biddy backs warm. I blame Sheryl Crow and that sappy, sad, feel-guilty commercial she made about abused animals.

Leah and Gram (me) 2010

Having said that I am jumping trains and boarding another subject: my granddaughter Leah. She is 12 years old and as long as I can remember Leah has wanted a puppy. As long as she can remember she's never had one, or a glimmer of hope in getting one. Getting a puppy has been her birthday wish every year when she blows out her candles. She's created Power Point slide shows on the subject. “Oh Gram...look how CUTE!” she beseeches me as she forces me to look at yet another googled image of a golden labrador puppy.

She hangs out with me some Saturdays and always has the same item at the top of her to-do list....go to the animal shelter and visit the poor miserable, abandoned dogs and cats. I cringe cause I know what's coming. The shelter stinks. The dogs bark in cadence, bruising my ear drums and irritating my ulcer. But my grandchildren have me wrapped around their little fingers so go we must. I can't resist her. I love her so much I'm willing to do that for her and if I had a kitten for everytime we've gone to the animal shelter since she was old enough to ask to go, I'd be neck deep in cats. She has to stop at every cage and talk to each animal. I am usually trying to plug my ears, standing by the entrance of the corridor of cages, and rushing her through the visitation, repeating my "animal shelter mantra" every other second - “For the love of Lucy, don't TOUCH him Leah!” (I should have that tatooed on my forehead.) One especially heart-breaking Saturday, mid-way through the visit, she stood in the corridor between the cages, pressed her hands to her heart and exclaimed “Oh Gram, I Can't Stand It!” She wants to take them ALL home. No dog or cat shall be left behind.

All this being said, I started slowly, almost imperceptibly noticing a change in me. About a year ago on one of our outings I started looking at the dogs and cats and wondering what course of events brought them there. I noted the ones that looked exceptionally scared or abused. I stopped for a couple seconds in front of one or two cages and I actually felt sadness for them. A few months later I started actually talking to them. “Hello little puppy. What brings you here today?”. Then I began commisserating with Leah on the sadness of it all. I stopped rushing her through the process and toward the door.

We went again today and I found myself driving in the direction of the pound without the normal sigh of despair and feeling of reluctance. When we got there, I was actually talking baby talk to some of them and calling to Leah “Oh look how fluffy this one is! Oh look this one has a floppy ear!”. I felt an unusual, strange feeling — a very tiny twinge indicating that I might actually want to adopt one. But reason quickly rushed in and shoved that feeling back down where it belongs. Oh my gosh, what was that? Phew, it's gone. That was a close one.

No matter how alluring the howl of Darth Vadar's chihuahua, I am resisting going over to the “bark” side. I just don't know how much longer I can hold out. How many more trips to the animal shelter will I be able to take?

God help me. Tomorrow I'm throwing out all my Sheryl Crow CDs.


Mary Catherine~