okay - no offense to all you Dog People
but personally? i find the care of dogs to be utterly unrewarding. remember - i don't have or want my own kids, either, but this doesn't mean i kick them in the street, all right? i just don't want them dependent on me. this is what it comes down to. i prefer to think of it as a genetic trait, which absolves me of responsibility for not wanting responsibility. handy, eh?
this gene is carried on the maternal X chromosome, i'm sure of it, because no chromosome from my dog-loving father would ever allow a non-dog-loving gene to express itself. since i think ONE girlfriend of mine - there might be as many as two or three - do not have dogs (or children) i'm at a loss to find someone to bitch about how needy dogs are. so i'll put it right out here in cyberspace for all to see. *sounds of flamethrowers emerging*
i know there are people who'd like to accuse me of being a 'cat person' and yes, i do have a cat, actually. since you ask. i do. have. a cat - one. and one is almost too many. i kind of wish i could have half a cat - one to snuggle in my lap, but that would disappear when i have the desire to go away for days leaving no responsibilities unattended. i don't even have houseplants, for god's sake. i killed a pothos, if that gives you any idea (sorry trish) how little living things deserve to be sent to be dependent on me. dependents and yours truly - it's just a match made in Hell itself.
does this make me a lousy caregiver? logically, i suppose it should - because i'm supposed to be responsible for living things (kids) in my work/daily life, and i enjoy my work, so why does this dependency factor irk me so? i have no clear idea, but i do have a suspicion that there is a genetic factor. my maternal grandmother, who admittedly loved her children, preferred to work a day job. if she and grampa had lived in different times, perhaps they wouldn't have had to divorce - he could have stayed home with the kids, as was his wont, and she could have held the steady day job and earned money for the household. in the 1940s and 1950s, this wasn't done, and that is why they had to give up i think. this is years and generations separated from the events described, but i don't think i'm too far wrong there. this is the thing about paid, vs. unpaid - care. i get to go home at the end of the day. it may not be on the strike of five, but eventually someone responsible comes to take over and i get to go home. i can not tell you how liberating it is to go to the grocery store, the library, on a bike ride, or just out to mow the lawn with no one following me around or demanding my attention -after a day of being thoroughly immersed in this very mire. my post-work freedom is a state of grace that i cannot imagine abandoning. it is what keeps me going at the end of some very toddler-cranky days sometimes.
my own mum loved taking care of us kids and loved being a mom. this is the kind of mom to have, if you can take your pick. she was great at it! she loved just watching us discover the world and working out our own solutions to problems and showing off (a lot, in my case). this was her entertainment. but she never, ever, had any desire to have a dog dependent on her and i suspect that the dependency, accompanied by some other rather distasteful aspects of keeping a dog -- dealing with the plague of dog hair collecting on surfaces like st. helens ash, having to arrange care for one when she wanted to go anywhere, and maybe finding the occasional dog turd pile in an unwanted location -- was part of her larger refusal package. (for whatever kids may lack, they're much more portable and welcome at more indoor locations than dogs may be. also, they eventually learn to fend for themselves to an extent, which dogs will never do.)
my brother - after long years of begging - finally talked her into one anyway, when he was in middle school. that dog is now about twelve years old, getting grumpy (but still loveable). i actually do love this particular dog. i helped train him, because my brother knew nothing about dogs, and he became my adopted dog-son. i always paid dear attention to him when i came home, because this was after i'd long left the house. i do love him, and i still do not want to be responsible for him. apparently, neither does my brother, who is off being a man in his early 20s and makes no room in his plans to include his dog. this leaves mum and pop with a dog they never truly wanted for themselves, as they must have known would happen all those years ago when they refused over and over to get him one, before ultimately giving in. my sister, as it turns out, has a softer spot for dogs than you would guess. she's a nurse with two children and a dog they picked up off the street years before the kids, so my guess is the non-dependency gene skipped her entirely and instead hit me with both barrels.
we have the cat because my un-husband insisted on it. there was a cat before, a street kitty, who we had many years and we eventually euthanized after he was suffering so from a combination of an apparent brain tumor and impaired thyroid function. my soft-hearted sweetie made the decision to put him down, and we were without a cat for over half a year. i began to feel worried about him when he started talking to the goldfish. he was always in a home with cats, growing up, and it was almost as if he couldn't quite function without one. this is what a touch of the asperger's syndrome will do to a person. he's a fine man in all respects - better than many, and the best i've personally come across, so i'm not complaining. if he needs animal companionship to function, a cat is a good compromise - but i can't suffer listening to my sweetie try to develop a relationship with a fish having a three-second memory capacity. the new kitty (which looks strikingly like the old one at times) can be quite independent when he's of a mind, and so i don't resent his occasional neediness. it cramps my style a bit when the un-husband and i mean to travel in different directions at the same time, but there is usually an easy solution. overfeed him, leave open the pet door, and off you go. he naps fourteen to sixteen hours a day - there's not much to feel sorry for when you leave and he's half-heartedly peeling one eyelid in your direction to indicate awareness of your departure. this is the kind of companionship i can appreciate.
with dogs, you just can't pat them on the head on your way out. they need companionship, and excercise - they need care and feeding, they need encouragement and loving attention - and most disgustingly, they need someone to pick up their shit, tie it in plastic bags, and throw it in the trash. for some reason, i'm not squeamish about dealing with baby shit. baby shit is totally different. for one thing, i know what they're eating and unless you've been really lax watching after them in the park or something it's not the shit of other animals being reprocessed in there (oh, the horror stories i've been told). for another thing, they eventually get the hang of dealing with their own shit, and then you don't have to do it anymore. maybe five years, max, of wiping butts on that kid, and he's self sufficient. now, i can fantasize about the dogs picking out plastic bags from the drawer and going out to clean up after themselves - looking apologetically over one shoulder, like, 'be right back, babe - got a little mess there,' - but it's only a fantasy. i'm not digging the shit detail. it's awful. it smells rank. it smells almost as bad as the skank leftover-rental-carpet in here that we finally ripped out like we were excorcising demons from the place. okay, nothing is quite that bad.
still, carnivorous shit is pretty nasty, and this is why i make a point of not being much of a gardener. cats are carnivores also, and i know exactly what the cat is doing when he casually slinks outside after breakfast - he's going to shit in the flowerbeds. he'll carefully cover it up, and i myself will never dig there because i am a lazy, lazy gardener. the strawberries and things i really want him to stay out of are in boxes. we understand each other. dogs will shit in the location demanded by The Great Dog Alien Controller, which takes them a while to sniff out. and occasionally you have to stand there in unpleasant weather conditions, waiting for them to go for god's sake, just GO! ANYWHERE! for the love of all that is holy, would you ever take a dump for yourself so we can go back inside the warm house that is not yet infused with the Wet Canine Potpourri that will be our reality when your soggy doggy ass is parked on top of the heating vent later, for the love of CHRIST will you just GO??
so dogs are not my thing. but mum and pop and my sister and family all went away for the weekend, and i was asked to dog-sit. i borrow tools and money from them, show up at dinner time unannounced, beg for help getting my disabled cars off the street, and insist they bring their own booze to thanksgiving dinner - so i do owe them. i do. i don't resent doing them favors. i'm sure working on cars isn't my pop's favorite activity any more if it ever was, and i know that having my ass at my sister's dinner table when superG is working late puts my attendance rate at about 68% of all meals served. i'm certainly getting my money's worth, and i wasn't going anywhere this weekend. one of the cars is right now disabled with a flat tire on the curb outside my very home, so i may cash in the return favor sooner than you'd think. i'm just saying - dogs are not my thing. dogs are not my thing and i don't get it, the people for whom it is.
yes, i cried at old yeller. and when laura's dog jack died. and when the hounds in where the red fern grows finally bit it after years of faithful 'coon hunting. i also cried when picky-picky was found cold, though, and he wasn't a major player in the books. i have a deep sympathy for the attachment people have to animals they love. am i wicked to find it a relief, also, when they die? or is it just that 'don't lean on me' gene rearing its independent head? i prefer the genetic blame - it gives me such license.
this gene is carried on the maternal X chromosome, i'm sure of it, because no chromosome from my dog-loving father would ever allow a non-dog-loving gene to express itself. since i think ONE girlfriend of mine - there might be as many as two or three - do not have dogs (or children) i'm at a loss to find someone to bitch about how needy dogs are. so i'll put it right out here in cyberspace for all to see. *sounds of flamethrowers emerging*
i know there are people who'd like to accuse me of being a 'cat person' and yes, i do have a cat, actually. since you ask. i do. have. a cat - one. and one is almost too many. i kind of wish i could have half a cat - one to snuggle in my lap, but that would disappear when i have the desire to go away for days leaving no responsibilities unattended. i don't even have houseplants, for god's sake. i killed a pothos, if that gives you any idea (sorry trish) how little living things deserve to be sent to be dependent on me. dependents and yours truly - it's just a match made in Hell itself.
does this make me a lousy caregiver? logically, i suppose it should - because i'm supposed to be responsible for living things (kids) in my work/daily life, and i enjoy my work, so why does this dependency factor irk me so? i have no clear idea, but i do have a suspicion that there is a genetic factor. my maternal grandmother, who admittedly loved her children, preferred to work a day job. if she and grampa had lived in different times, perhaps they wouldn't have had to divorce - he could have stayed home with the kids, as was his wont, and she could have held the steady day job and earned money for the household. in the 1940s and 1950s, this wasn't done, and that is why they had to give up i think. this is years and generations separated from the events described, but i don't think i'm too far wrong there. this is the thing about paid, vs. unpaid - care. i get to go home at the end of the day. it may not be on the strike of five, but eventually someone responsible comes to take over and i get to go home. i can not tell you how liberating it is to go to the grocery store, the library, on a bike ride, or just out to mow the lawn with no one following me around or demanding my attention -after a day of being thoroughly immersed in this very mire. my post-work freedom is a state of grace that i cannot imagine abandoning. it is what keeps me going at the end of some very toddler-cranky days sometimes.
my own mum loved taking care of us kids and loved being a mom. this is the kind of mom to have, if you can take your pick. she was great at it! she loved just watching us discover the world and working out our own solutions to problems and showing off (a lot, in my case). this was her entertainment. but she never, ever, had any desire to have a dog dependent on her and i suspect that the dependency, accompanied by some other rather distasteful aspects of keeping a dog -- dealing with the plague of dog hair collecting on surfaces like st. helens ash, having to arrange care for one when she wanted to go anywhere, and maybe finding the occasional dog turd pile in an unwanted location -- was part of her larger refusal package. (for whatever kids may lack, they're much more portable and welcome at more indoor locations than dogs may be. also, they eventually learn to fend for themselves to an extent, which dogs will never do.)
my brother - after long years of begging - finally talked her into one anyway, when he was in middle school. that dog is now about twelve years old, getting grumpy (but still loveable). i actually do love this particular dog. i helped train him, because my brother knew nothing about dogs, and he became my adopted dog-son. i always paid dear attention to him when i came home, because this was after i'd long left the house. i do love him, and i still do not want to be responsible for him. apparently, neither does my brother, who is off being a man in his early 20s and makes no room in his plans to include his dog. this leaves mum and pop with a dog they never truly wanted for themselves, as they must have known would happen all those years ago when they refused over and over to get him one, before ultimately giving in. my sister, as it turns out, has a softer spot for dogs than you would guess. she's a nurse with two children and a dog they picked up off the street years before the kids, so my guess is the non-dependency gene skipped her entirely and instead hit me with both barrels.
we have the cat because my un-husband insisted on it. there was a cat before, a street kitty, who we had many years and we eventually euthanized after he was suffering so from a combination of an apparent brain tumor and impaired thyroid function. my soft-hearted sweetie made the decision to put him down, and we were without a cat for over half a year. i began to feel worried about him when he started talking to the goldfish. he was always in a home with cats, growing up, and it was almost as if he couldn't quite function without one. this is what a touch of the asperger's syndrome will do to a person. he's a fine man in all respects - better than many, and the best i've personally come across, so i'm not complaining. if he needs animal companionship to function, a cat is a good compromise - but i can't suffer listening to my sweetie try to develop a relationship with a fish having a three-second memory capacity. the new kitty (which looks strikingly like the old one at times) can be quite independent when he's of a mind, and so i don't resent his occasional neediness. it cramps my style a bit when the un-husband and i mean to travel in different directions at the same time, but there is usually an easy solution. overfeed him, leave open the pet door, and off you go. he naps fourteen to sixteen hours a day - there's not much to feel sorry for when you leave and he's half-heartedly peeling one eyelid in your direction to indicate awareness of your departure. this is the kind of companionship i can appreciate.
with dogs, you just can't pat them on the head on your way out. they need companionship, and excercise - they need care and feeding, they need encouragement and loving attention - and most disgustingly, they need someone to pick up their shit, tie it in plastic bags, and throw it in the trash. for some reason, i'm not squeamish about dealing with baby shit. baby shit is totally different. for one thing, i know what they're eating and unless you've been really lax watching after them in the park or something it's not the shit of other animals being reprocessed in there (oh, the horror stories i've been told). for another thing, they eventually get the hang of dealing with their own shit, and then you don't have to do it anymore. maybe five years, max, of wiping butts on that kid, and he's self sufficient. now, i can fantasize about the dogs picking out plastic bags from the drawer and going out to clean up after themselves - looking apologetically over one shoulder, like, 'be right back, babe - got a little mess there,' - but it's only a fantasy. i'm not digging the shit detail. it's awful. it smells rank. it smells almost as bad as the skank leftover-rental-carpet in here that we finally ripped out like we were excorcising demons from the place. okay, nothing is quite that bad.
still, carnivorous shit is pretty nasty, and this is why i make a point of not being much of a gardener. cats are carnivores also, and i know exactly what the cat is doing when he casually slinks outside after breakfast - he's going to shit in the flowerbeds. he'll carefully cover it up, and i myself will never dig there because i am a lazy, lazy gardener. the strawberries and things i really want him to stay out of are in boxes. we understand each other. dogs will shit in the location demanded by The Great Dog Alien Controller, which takes them a while to sniff out. and occasionally you have to stand there in unpleasant weather conditions, waiting for them to go for god's sake, just GO! ANYWHERE! for the love of all that is holy, would you ever take a dump for yourself so we can go back inside the warm house that is not yet infused with the Wet Canine Potpourri that will be our reality when your soggy doggy ass is parked on top of the heating vent later, for the love of CHRIST will you just GO??
so dogs are not my thing. but mum and pop and my sister and family all went away for the weekend, and i was asked to dog-sit. i borrow tools and money from them, show up at dinner time unannounced, beg for help getting my disabled cars off the street, and insist they bring their own booze to thanksgiving dinner - so i do owe them. i do. i don't resent doing them favors. i'm sure working on cars isn't my pop's favorite activity any more if it ever was, and i know that having my ass at my sister's dinner table when superG is working late puts my attendance rate at about 68% of all meals served. i'm certainly getting my money's worth, and i wasn't going anywhere this weekend. one of the cars is right now disabled with a flat tire on the curb outside my very home, so i may cash in the return favor sooner than you'd think. i'm just saying - dogs are not my thing. dogs are not my thing and i don't get it, the people for whom it is.
yes, i cried at old yeller. and when laura's dog jack died. and when the hounds in where the red fern grows finally bit it after years of faithful 'coon hunting. i also cried when picky-picky was found cold, though, and he wasn't a major player in the books. i have a deep sympathy for the attachment people have to animals they love. am i wicked to find it a relief, also, when they die? or is it just that 'don't lean on me' gene rearing its independent head? i prefer the genetic blame - it gives me such license.