Dear Jessica Brennan,
I know you love your dog (Lily,pictured above), and I do too, in very small doses because I don’t really get the dog thing. From the standpoint of appreciating the beauty and loyalty of a dog, yes, I get that, but owning one, really? Now, I’m a cat person, as you know, and enjoy the abuse and less than cheerful personality a cat can bring to the equation. I think eternally happy dogs, like eternally happy people, just set my teeth on edge. What’s that all about? I would worry about anything that is that happy to see me every day. I mean Dad is pretty happy to see me, but he doesn’t jump up.
Dogs smell bad. Even when they’re having a bath, they smell bad. How does that happen? Dogs are dangerous. They bite and wear muzzles, but all of this is nothing compared to the maintenance. All the walking and boarding and walking again. The up and down off the couch to take the dog out. That can’t be good for you. In my neighbourhood it seems everyone has a dog or two. There’s the redhead with the Irish Setter and the short, chubby guy with the bull terrier. The dogs go by, tails wagging and sloppy jowls hanging, barking and panting. There are dog parks with games of fetch, and the doggy daycares are everywhere, while the cats roam around digging up flower beds and getting on with it.
Here’s how you train a cat. You bring it home as a kitten the size of a tennis ball and set it in the litter tray. Done. Trained. Time to watch Game of Thrones.
Here’s how you train a dog. You buy a crate and a lead and a muzzle with pepper spray in it. You need a bed for it and chew-toys. You then tell your family that you will be sleeping on the couch for the next six months because you need to take the dog out every 6 minutes to make sure it learns where to go to the bathroom. The dog doesn’t like the chew toys you bought, so all of your daughter’s toys and several pairs of your slippers are about to be ripped to shreds. You are sleep-deprived for half a year, lose your job and can’t see your friends because they don’t like dogs, or the constant screaming of “get down!”. By the time the dog is a year old it can almost walk on a leash without dragging you to the corner and it knows enough to scratch all the trim off the back door when it wants to go out. Good dog.
A dog is happy and excitable in the same way those people are who can’t wait to tell you at every opportunity, how grateful and blessed they are. Don’t get me wrong, I feel very grateful and often blessed, but I don’t go on about it as though these are the only two descriptors I have in my vocabulary.
“Oh cauliflower is on for under $10 a head. I feel so grateful”.
“Little Sally passed grade two, aren’t we blessed.”
Dogs are the grateful and blessed pet, while cats are the joyfully glass half empty pet. You can trust a cat.
Every once in awhile I think I might like a dog, perhaps an English Springer Spaniel or an Irish Terrier, so I ask the cat what he thinks. He opens one eye and says the same thing, “Meow”. Loosely translated as – I would be grateful if you would bless me with your absence – and I know I’m forever a cat person.
Love Mum xo
