That part of the brain that makes people want dogs? I don't have that.
I know many of you must see this as a tragic birth defect, and, I guess it is. But, I cope. You know, some people can't get higher math, or can't read social cues. Some are not cut out to be parents. Sociopaths do not feel guilt or experience normal human emotions. I do not get dogs.
Part of it, I'm sure, is that we didn't ever have a dog when I was growing up. I don't miss it, and I don't see the need.
Part of it is the stories I hear from the people who LOVE their dogs.
A former coworker used to tell us practically every day about a shelter dog she had adopted. She loved that animal! She loved it so much she let it sleep with her. Even though it threw up in her bed. Every night. And snored so much she couldn't sleep! She loved it even though it made wet and muddy messes. On her white carpet. Every day. She would complain about all that it put her through and express her love for it in the same sentence. I would stare at her, probably with my mouth hanging open, and Just. Not. Get. It.
I would think to myself, "If I had a roommate like that, that would be its last day in my house."
I know many of you must see this as a tragic birth defect, and, I guess it is. But, I cope. You know, some people can't get higher math, or can't read social cues. Some are not cut out to be parents. Sociopaths do not feel guilt or experience normal human emotions. I do not get dogs.
Part of it, I'm sure, is that we didn't ever have a dog when I was growing up. I don't miss it, and I don't see the need.
Part of it is the stories I hear from the people who LOVE their dogs.
A former coworker used to tell us practically every day about a shelter dog she had adopted. She loved that animal! She loved it so much she let it sleep with her. Even though it threw up in her bed. Every night. And snored so much she couldn't sleep! She loved it even though it made wet and muddy messes. On her white carpet. Every day. She would complain about all that it put her through and express her love for it in the same sentence. I would stare at her, probably with my mouth hanging open, and Just. Not. Get. It.
I would think to myself, "If I had a roommate like that, that would be its last day in my house."
Whatever that dog gave back to her that made it worth it to her was
totally invisible to me. I tell you, I am missing that lobe.
My brothers have accepted dogs into their houses. That's cool, I guess. Even though one of them has to get a team of people with ropes to pull that huge animal back whenever someone crosses the unforgivable line of ringing their doorbell. I listen to the struggle on the other side of the door, and I just don't understand why anyone would want to go through that.
Really. I don't get it.
And then there are more stories. Stories about dogs coming out into the living room with used tampons in their mouths when there is company. Stories about dogs needing surgery that costs thousands of dollars. Stories about dogs chewing up valued belongings. Stories about dogs getting out and getting lost, people having to drive around looking for dogs. Stories about dogs eating one's dinner. Stories about dogs getting into the garbage. Stories about being in trouble with the law because one's dog bit/scared/decimated someone.
Honest. I have never. Never never ever heard a story about someone's dog that made me want one.
Not even a little.
Dogs just don't do it for me.
I guess I just don't get it. And I'm fine with that.
Even if I could overcome my fear of dogs, which seems, you know, hopeless, I still wouldn't want one. When I invite people to my home, I want them to feel welcome, not terrified. I try not to let my children jump up on top of them, let alone an animal. I know something must be wrong with me, but getting pounced on by someone's animal just does not do it for me. I would rather leave than sit down.
And I already know without trying that I would absolutely fail at a job as a dog catcher. I could possibly see myself driving up to the area where the loose dog was. You know, within the safety of the vehicle. Maybe, I could even step out of the truck. But I know that the moment I laid eyes on the dog, I would be all, "That's fine, you just say there. Good doggie. No, don't come over here. I'm leaving now." I would back up to the truck, get in like the boogie man was after me, and drive away. And then, I suppose, turn in my badge.
I know that people can be (inexplicably) very, very fond of their dogs. Just because I don't understand it doesn't mean it isn't real. So, I try to be polite and seem interested, the same way people do for me when there is a new picture of my granddaughter.
The other day, I had a conversation with a dog lover that it seemed might be a turning point for me. She was so trusting of my sympathy, so candid with me about how she saw things, that I really hoped that I could begin to gain some ground, some insight, into what makes people love dogs. I listened hopefully. Maybe I could begin to see things from the other point of view.
It was partly my fault that she turned unsuspectingly to me, I guess. A month or two ago, she had a dog who was dying, so, of course, I listened sympathetically then. To be fair to myself, I really was sympathetic to her mourning. She had no idea that I'm a dog sociopath. I should have warned her, before this conversation, I guess, that my capacity for sympathy was limited, but I honestly did think maybe, listening to such a detailed description of what it was like to be a dog owner and lover would help me.
My brothers have accepted dogs into their houses. That's cool, I guess. Even though one of them has to get a team of people with ropes to pull that huge animal back whenever someone crosses the unforgivable line of ringing their doorbell. I listen to the struggle on the other side of the door, and I just don't understand why anyone would want to go through that.
Really. I don't get it.
And then there are more stories. Stories about dogs coming out into the living room with used tampons in their mouths when there is company. Stories about dogs needing surgery that costs thousands of dollars. Stories about dogs chewing up valued belongings. Stories about dogs getting out and getting lost, people having to drive around looking for dogs. Stories about dogs eating one's dinner. Stories about dogs getting into the garbage. Stories about being in trouble with the law because one's dog bit/scared/decimated someone.
Honest. I have never. Never never ever heard a story about someone's dog that made me want one.
Not even a little.
Dogs just don't do it for me.
I guess I just don't get it. And I'm fine with that.
Even if I could overcome my fear of dogs, which seems, you know, hopeless, I still wouldn't want one. When I invite people to my home, I want them to feel welcome, not terrified. I try not to let my children jump up on top of them, let alone an animal. I know something must be wrong with me, but getting pounced on by someone's animal just does not do it for me. I would rather leave than sit down.
And I already know without trying that I would absolutely fail at a job as a dog catcher. I could possibly see myself driving up to the area where the loose dog was. You know, within the safety of the vehicle. Maybe, I could even step out of the truck. But I know that the moment I laid eyes on the dog, I would be all, "That's fine, you just say there. Good doggie. No, don't come over here. I'm leaving now." I would back up to the truck, get in like the boogie man was after me, and drive away. And then, I suppose, turn in my badge.
I know that people can be (inexplicably) very, very fond of their dogs. Just because I don't understand it doesn't mean it isn't real. So, I try to be polite and seem interested, the same way people do for me when there is a new picture of my granddaughter.
The other day, I had a conversation with a dog lover that it seemed might be a turning point for me. She was so trusting of my sympathy, so candid with me about how she saw things, that I really hoped that I could begin to gain some ground, some insight, into what makes people love dogs. I listened hopefully. Maybe I could begin to see things from the other point of view.
It was partly my fault that she turned unsuspectingly to me, I guess. A month or two ago, she had a dog who was dying, so, of course, I listened sympathetically then. To be fair to myself, I really was sympathetic to her mourning. She had no idea that I'm a dog sociopath. I should have warned her, before this conversation, I guess, that my capacity for sympathy was limited, but I honestly did think maybe, listening to such a detailed description of what it was like to be a dog owner and lover would help me.
But, I'm afraid, as she told me the sad story about how her neighbor, that
she's known for years and years, screamed when her dog ran up
to her, barking, my sympathies lay mainly with the neighbor. She told me that she had asked this woman while she was in the very act of being bitten, "Why are
you screaming?" And that the screaming was why her dog bit the woman.
Everyone knows that it's this dog's "way" to come up to people barking,
and that after she sniffs them out, she's fine.
I'm thinking, 'Yay. Nothing like being sniffed by a dog to make me feel more tolerant of it."
If the woman only wouldn't have made that high-pitched, of all things, scream, then her dog wouldn't have bit her. All her neighbors know that she and her husband never have their dogs out when they are not outside with them.
I'm thinking about the one, two, three, four times in my life that a dog's owner has told me--WHILE their dog was running up to bite me--"Oh, s/he won't hurt you." They were wrong. And I wasn't even screaming. Not even in a low-pitched way.
I honestly did try to listen with an open mind. I am sure there is plenty for me to learn about, well, the rest of the world. I could tell her sadness was real now that her new, huge, vicious (it sounds like) "puppy" is in quarantine. (Personally, I think I would feel relieved. "Yes, please, keep him for a few days--as long as you like!")
She just can't understand why her neighbors have turned on her like this. "We never let our dogs bark more than twice," she told me. That was interesting. I wanted to know how. "We bring them back in or else sit out there with them, you know, correcting them as they bark."
I am the first to admit that I know nothing about how to train a dog, so I can't judge. But I do appreciate a trained dog. There have been one or two I've met in my lifetime that I have not been afraid of at all, they were so well trained.
I suppose if all dogs were taught not to bark, not to charge, and could be not just trusted, but trust-WORTHY, not to bite, I wouldn't have a problem with them at all.
Not that I, even still, would want one in my house. Or, come to think of it, my yard.
I'm thinking, 'Yay. Nothing like being sniffed by a dog to make me feel more tolerant of it."
If the woman only wouldn't have made that high-pitched, of all things, scream, then her dog wouldn't have bit her. All her neighbors know that she and her husband never have their dogs out when they are not outside with them.
I'm thinking about the one, two, three, four times in my life that a dog's owner has told me--WHILE their dog was running up to bite me--"Oh, s/he won't hurt you." They were wrong. And I wasn't even screaming. Not even in a low-pitched way.
I honestly did try to listen with an open mind. I am sure there is plenty for me to learn about, well, the rest of the world. I could tell her sadness was real now that her new, huge, vicious (it sounds like) "puppy" is in quarantine. (Personally, I think I would feel relieved. "Yes, please, keep him for a few days--as long as you like!")
She just can't understand why her neighbors have turned on her like this. "We never let our dogs bark more than twice," she told me. That was interesting. I wanted to know how. "We bring them back in or else sit out there with them, you know, correcting them as they bark."
I am the first to admit that I know nothing about how to train a dog, so I can't judge. But I do appreciate a trained dog. There have been one or two I've met in my lifetime that I have not been afraid of at all, they were so well trained.
I suppose if all dogs were taught not to bark, not to charge, and could be not just trusted, but trust-WORTHY, not to bite, I wouldn't have a problem with them at all.
Not that I, even still, would want one in my house. Or, come to think of it, my yard.
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