Pet Sounds

I am not a pet person.

It's not that I don't like animals, or that I can't look at a baby chimpanzee or a puppy or a kitten and go "awwwww!" I loved Lassie and Flipper and Gentle Ben as a kid. I like animals. I just don't like being a "pet owner."We had a couple of small dogs when I was a kid. Both died from unfortunate interactions with motor vehicles. My mother took it hardest, crying like she had lost a child when “Tippy” died. It might have been then that I realized I didn’t want to have to compete with a dog for attention, because I would probably lose. I was simply not as playful, not as cute, and it cost more to feed me.

Connie’s family had a cat throughout her childhood and it died while she was in college. When we married, she wanted a cat, and since my goal was, is and always shall be to make her happy, I got her one. When we moved to Tennessee, I don’t think it liked the climate, the color orange or the accents because it ran away (either back to Kentucky or to a life of leisure as Queen Mascot at a Florida retirement home).

In the mid-nineties we acquired two stray cats that lived with us for about three months. One escaped and was promptly hit by a car in front of our house. The other cat escaped as well, and the story of its tragic destiny and ultimate doom are still told around campfires, at sleepovers and in hushed whispers at certain holiday parties when the mood becomes just a bit too festive. (I would tell the story now, but I’m shopping around the movie rights. Spielberg has shown some interest).

Needless to say, as we entered the new Millennium, our history with pets had not been good.

But all kids want a pet. My girls are no different. They desperately wanted a dog. They’d seen them in movies and they’ve seen other people playing happily with them in the park. If only they had a dog, their life would be perfect. They wanted a dog and I was the mean, evil Dad for not letting them have one. A few years back, Shelby had a boyfriend who decided to get her a dog for Christmas. She wanted a “lap” dog. A cuddly, little fur ball that she could hold while watching TV. He got her a German Sheppard.

Whether it was the disappointment in not getting the cuddly lap dog she wanted, or fear that the rapidly growing dog would attack and kill her in her sleep, Shelby never grew attached to her gift. One day, about three weeks into her first pet ownership experience, I tried to explain to her the responsibility of having a dog. They need love, I told her. They need time and attention. I reminded her that this dog would be a companion for her and they would be together probably through her college years. She looked at me with a face full of stunned realization and said, “you mean they live that long?” I knew then that Shelby was not a pet person either…and so we said goodbye to that dog.

Two years ago, we got a cat. I don’t really remember how it happened. I was on travel. I got a call. Something was said about something and I grunted agreeably. When I got home, there was a cat.

Her name was “Manna” (don’t ask me why because I do not know) and she loved being near me. It didn’t matter that everyone else wanted her to be in their lap or playing with them, she preferred me. I think cats can sense those poor, sad folks that have violent allergic reactions to cat hair, and out of some extreme sense of cat compassion, they want to give them love. Manna tried to love me to death.

Taylor, our youngest, had always wanted a pet of her own. She and Manna did not, do not and likely will never get along. As much as the cat wanted to be with me (a person who not only could have cared less about it but also got sick in its mere presence), she completely ignored Taylor (who desperately wanted to play with it). It’s the kind of cruel behavior that only a cat or a high school cheerleader would think is fun.

Connie was positive that Taylor needed a dog. Dogs, she said, give love unconditionally, and that’s exactly what Taylor needed to make up for the self esteem hit she took from the sociopathic cat. Fair enough, I thought, and hopefully, the dog will eat the feline. I went with it, and a little over a month ago we brought home “Bella.”

If you actually want to have a dog, Bella couldn’t be more perfect. She trained within twenty-four hours, becoming so obsessed with using her indoor “puppy pad” that she wouldn’t even pee outdoors. She stays quietly in her crate all night and has not yet chewed on our new furniture. She plays when we want to play, and when we don’t, she generally lays around, eating and staring at the TV. She’s pretty much a dog version of our family.

Still, she’s a puppy, and therefore needs to be trained in a lot of areas. She gets hyper sometimes and runs behind the couch, digs into plants, jumps in my recliner. We seem to constantly be saying “no” which in dog language must sound like “good dog, do it faster.” She likes to bite on the girl’s pants legs, which sends Taylor into screaming fits because she’s sure the dog will chew her leg off. Connie and I learned that we not only have to train the dog, but we have to train the girls (and ourselves) on how to train the dog. It’s a lot of work. It’s like having another baby, and Connie promised me that we were done with all that.

Our house is divided into “pet zones.” The downstairs belongs to Manna, and the upstairs to Bella. There is no longer a “Bruce” zone. Everywhere I go there is a pet or evidence of pets. Chew toys in the living room, gritty spillage out of the litter box in the laundry room. Even a peaceful moment in the bathroom is usually interrupted by the soft tapping of a paw on the door, a constant reminder that they are in control and I have nowhere to hide, even in my own home.

I must take a moment to admit that a great deal of my aversion to pet ownership is purely selfish. I don’t like being tied down. I like spur of the moment ideas. I like the freedom to come home on Friday night and say “let’s go to the mountains for the weekend.” Now, we have to consider the pets. Vacations now have to be planned with the pets in mind. Someone has to come to our house to feed the cat. The dog will likely have to be boarded, which means that I not only have to budget a vacation for my family, but also for the dog.

Another thing I find disturbing that I’m now “responsible” for these living creatures. My little red wagon is almost too heavy to pull with the weight of what I already feel responsible for. Adding a dog, a cat and a twenty five pound bag of kitty litter puts extra strain on my back, my mind, and my wallet that I just don’t need. Now we have Vet bills, different types of pet food to buy, chew toys, de-wormers, puppy pads, dog shampoo, and other things I’m sure Connie doesn’t even tell me because she doesn’t want to see that look on my face when I hear of a new “pet expense.”

I know that a lot of people love being pet owners. Good for them. I hope they are happy. I know that I am probably in the minority. I am in the minority in my own home 99.9% of the time and that’s okay. I’m a loner. A rebel. I don’t need everyone to agree with me. I just want enough understanding that it keeps me out of the doghouse.