Dogs

 I’ve been accused of not liking dogs.  And there’s some truth there.  I don’t dislike all dogs, but I have a fear of large aggressive dogs.  I’ll tell you why in a bit.

We always had dogs when I was growing up.  Mama had a picture of me at about 4 or 5 with “Sparky”, our little mixed breed pup.  Soon after that, an older couple who lived down the road moved away to be closer to their children.  They had a full blood male collie who looked just like Lassie on tv and they couldn’t take him with them. They thought it would be a good dog for our family because it was so good with children, so they gave us “King”. He was the best dog.  He watched out for me and my sister like a hawk.  If we started for the road, he’d nudge us back into the yard.  He’d bark if strangers came up.  He was just a good dog.  After that we always had collies.  We bred them with another family and had a continuous bloodline going. 

Later on, after our last collie died, we acquired an Australian shepherd.  He just appeared one day.  Apparently someone just dumped him out in the country. We asked around to try to find his owner but nobody claimed him so we kept him. His tail had been docked so naturally he was called “Bob” because he had a “Bob-tail”!  He was a great dog too. So gentle and laid back. He had one strange trait. He was about a year old when he came to us and he lived for about 10 years. In all that time, I never heard him bark, not even once.  When Stephen was born, Bob took to him immediately.  Bob would follow him around as he toddled around the yard. One of the first things he learned to say was “go on Bob” when Bob would try to kiss him!  

Now to my fear of large aggressive dogs.  A high school friend had a large, mean German shepherd that would try to attack me every time I went to his house.  I’d get out of the car and would have to immediately jump on the roof to get away from him. Finally I started honking the horn when I’d drive up.  Dave’s dad didn’t like it, but I didn’t care.  

In the mid 90s I worked for the post office as a rural carrier. One of my stops ordered a lot of packages.  They also had a large, aggressive, German shepherd.  Same thing as Dave’s dog.  I’d get out to deliver the package and immediately would have to leap back in the car.  Again, I would blow the horn.     

Then several years later, I was picking up a truck from some friends of my parents.  They had an old Pit Bull that was allegedly old and calm a not aggressive. Uh, no.  I was walking off their carport and didn’t even look at the dog.  Suddenly, before I knew what was happening , he jumps up, runs at me, and bites me in the butt.  Very few things in my life have hurt me as bad as that dog bite.  I honestly believe that if his top jaw hadn’t hit my wallet, he’d have taken a piece out of my butt cheek.  As it was, he didn’t break the skin, but I had a black and blue bruise from my hip to my knee.  I could barely walk.  And all the lady said was, “That’s strange. Old Bully usually doesn’t bite“  Well lady, I hate to tell you, but he bit me!  

So, after all that, you see why I don’t like big dogs.  For years I avoided them like the plague.  Then I met Susan.  One of the first things she told me was she had German shepherds. Two. In the house. Her family always had German shepherds. I’m thinking, I don’t know about this.  But I really liked her so I said I’d try. One of the dogs was very friendly.  It would come up and want me to rub his head and scratch behind his ears. Always wanted to play.  The other one was not as friendly.  She was very skittish and stand-offish.  She barked and growled every time I came around. I just ignored her but kept my eye on her.  

A few months after we started dating, the male dog died.  Then about a year later, the other one died.  I was appropriately sympathetic but really was glad to see them go.  For a while she said she wasn’t ready for another dog.  Hey, works for me!  Then one day I went to pick her up and was greeted at the door by a new German shepherd puppy.  “This is Rosie. I realized I needed another dog.  I’ve never been without a dog for any length of time and I missed it.  I hope you don’t mind.”  

What could I say.  It’s a puppy.  So like everyone else, I petted and played with the pup. That was a huge mistake. Apparently, according to Susan, who knows GS dogs better than I do, they pick one human to be “their person”.  The one they show the most loyalty, devotion, and love to.  One day, she tells me, “It’s apparent who Rosie’s person is, and it’s not me.”  I say who? “You!” It seems that I  have become Rosie’s “person” “But I don’t want to be Rosie’s person!  I barely like the dog!”  Too bad.  I’m the one.  Tag, I’m it. 

Susan gets home from work and Rosie is just “Meh. You’re home.  Feed me.”   I walk in and she goes nuts!  Jumping on me, trying to lick my face, just glad to see me.  If I sit down, she comes and puts her head in my lap.  If I stay the night she lays by my side of the bed!  The damn dog loves me and I don’t know why!  I’m not ugly or mean to the dog, I just don’t like all that stuff!  

So here I am, not a dog person, but I have become a dog’s person!