I have a cartoon on my office wall about dogs versus cats. The first panel, labeled “Dogs,” shows a woman asking a dog in sequence whether it wants a stick, a rock, a dirty old sock and some road kill. The dog’s enthusiastic response in each case is “yeah yeah!”
The second panel, labeled “Cats,” shows a woman asking a cat if it wants some imported gourmet creamed salmon. The cat says, “I’ll let you know” as it walks away.
As they say, it’s funny because it’s true. And this is precisely why so many people are either cat or dog people.
I have never been a dog person. Cats are perfect because they can take you or leave you and you, in return, can do the same. They are low maintenance.
About two years ago my wife started bugging me about getting a dog. Not just any dog, but a Newfoundlander, a giant slobbering bear of a dog that can grow as big as I am, and I am not exactly a small man. Pretty much a day didn’t go by that she didn’t say to me, “I want a Newfoundland dog.”
She was constantly showing me pictures and videos of these beasts and that just bolstered my resolve that I was never going to let any dog, much less a giant breed, into our house.
My reasons were sound. Dogs need attention, lots of it. They slobber, lick, chew and do all kinds of other undesirable things. They need to be trained, they bark, they crap all over the place and, by law, you have to pick it up. Ugh. They are like children who never grow up.
And they smell like, well, dogs.
Then, I started softening. It became obvious to me that this was something that would bring great joy to my beautiful bride. So I started a search of western Canada for breeders with a litter. Talking to breeders in Alberta eventually led me to a woman just south of Saskatoon that had 12 five-week-old puppies. They would be ready to go just in time for Christmas.
With great trepidation, I reserved one and had the breeder send Lorraine a picture of her present.
I have not seen her so happy since our wedding day (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).
I had conditions, however. It was to be her dog. She would walk it, feed it, pick up after it and leave me out of it.
It didn’t take long for all my fears to be confirmed. In fact, it was worse than I imagined. All the things I knew about dogs were amplified when you have the thing around 24 hours a day.
And to make matters worse, I quickly realized that having a dog was not going to be a one-person job.
I fretted, I ranted, I raved. What had I gotten myself into?
The only problem was, I couldn’t help but love the little creep. Rather than feeling like she is a chore, I actually look forward to seeing her. I take her for walks and drives in the car and she is a joy to be around.
I never understood what people see in dogs. Intellectually, I still don’t, but emotionally, it’s another story. I finally get it.
Another great two-panel cartoon shows a man getting home to his dog. The first is labelled “My dog when I get home after being away for four hours.
The dog, of course, is so excited and says something like, “You’re home, I missed you so much, I love you, I love you, I love you!”
The second drawing is exactly the same except it is labelled, “My dog when I get home after being away for four seconds.”
It’s funny because it’s true. Strangely, though, I feel the same way about the dog.
Some things defy logic.
