[Personally, I’m a dog guy. One thing I learned early on in my writing career is to tread carefully carefully around PETA folks (People for Ethical Treatment of Animals). I once wrote admiringly about how a farmer at a country fair could control his massive Percheron draft horse with “gees” and “haws” and gentle taps to the flank, and received a letter asking “How would you like to be whipped on the ass?” then suggested something much worse to be done to me. I found this story by college classmate Stuart Cohen (Turquoise SBs) to be quite funny, albeit in a curmudeonly kinda way. He is refreshingly honest about what he does and doesn’t like about pets. Then again, I find W.C. Fields and H.L. Mencken amusing, too. The story is split into several segments. Stick with it over the next few days. SB SM]
I made it clear from the start that I was determined to never have a dog. I didn’t like them. They are sloppy. They need frequent care, walking and feeding and such. They smell bad. Even as I said it, I had a feeling I was going to lose.
I married Wife with the reservation that she had had several such animals during her childhood and she actually liked them. She told stories about them and smiled during the telling. This was a bad sign but I married her anyway.
We were okay when it was just the two of us. I could offset any inclination she had to acquire a dog. She was still interested in keeping me happy, and I made it clear that my happiness and the presence of a dog in our home were mutually exclusive. Plenty of other people had them. If she needed a dose of dog, she could go pet someone else’s.
She asked me repeatedly, and still does sometimes, what I’ve got against dogs. Nothing, really. I don’t hate dogs. I just hate, and always have hated, having one around all the time, especially in my home.
“Isn’t ‘hate’ an awfully strong word?”
“How about ‘loathe.’ How about ‘despise.’” She clucked and changed the subject.
Chapter 2
The arrival of children mounted a threat to my stance. Unfortunately, there is something about children and puppies that gets conflated in the idealized image of family life. A father’s heart is soft toward young daughters. I should have been more explicitly antagonistic when the horrible idea of getting a dog, couched in logical language but rooted in pure emotion, arose from time to time. The pro-dog arguments that Wife slipped in appeared to be somewhat rational, about what’s good for the children and all, but they were purely emotional too.
I was especially terrified of them bringing home a puppy. I had heard stories of what even those who like dogs called, “the heartbreak of puppyhood.” The litany includes rambunctious leaping, chewing furniture, chewing shoes, endless barking at night (“But the puppy is lonely,”) dogshit in the house, peeing on the rugs, chewing the newspaper, dogshit where you walk outside, dog worming its way into bedroom or even bed, chewing pillows, and so forth. Playful biting is still biting. The thought of a puppy made my blood run cold.
Both my brothers had had dogs while their children were young. Both had sworn off dog ownership forever. My position was sound, and I knew I was going to lose.
Chapter 3
I consented to other pets with the hope of staving off the inevitable. Wife handled pet responsibilities, as I clung to the position that I didn’t want any of them.
The first was a guinea pig named Molly. It died on its second day. The story of its demise is still cloaked in mystery, owing to Daughter #1’s extreme guilt. I think she and her friends were playing catch with it like a ball and dropped it, breaking its neck. We had a funeral in the back yard. I wouldn’t ask, but I expect that almost twenty years later she would still admit to feeling guilty about Molly.
Fish were my choice, given maintenance, feeding and smell considerations. As in many families, fish came and went, swimming beautifully one day, floating on top of the tank the next. I was willing to keep buying fish forever. I figured as long as we were entertained by fish, my deeper fear would be allayed. We probably still have a tank, aerator and a lot of those little blue stones somewhere in the basement. Fish satisfied nobody but me.
Frogs seemed a good solution. They actually have a bit of personality. Wife bought a frog at the pet store, but it only lasted a day. From the kitchen counter it leapt and landed on the rim of a saucepan on the stove full of tomato sauce. A chorus of shrieks followed. Surely I was the only one who found the prospect of spaghetti sauce à la frog humorous. The event was way too traumatic, especially to the children, and back frog went the next day.
We actually did well with a frog somewhat later. I was preparing a head of romaine lettuce from the produce store when a small California tree frog appeared between the leaves. It was dubbed Fred the frog and housed in a terrarium with a rock to hide under. One night we heard it vocalize, a surprisingly loud croaking sound for such a small frog. The next morning I told Daughter #1 that Fred had croaked, and she started to cry. What a sweet moment of innocence in her childhood. Fred lasted a good 6 months, croaking away from time to time, until it escaped its humid domain and dried up in the dust on the bathroom floor. Like the fish, Fred wasn’t cuddly enough anyway. Besides, Wife was fed up with having to run to the animal store to buy and then feed it live crickets.
Daughter #2 had a couple of parakeets she called Daytime and Nighttime that she kept in her room. She had to cover the cage to keep them from waking her in the early morning. Sometimes she forgot about them and left the cover on all day. The uneaten birdseed grew little green shoots in the drain of the bathroom sink where she dumped the food tray. Nighttime had an agreeable personality; Daytime was kind of a nag. Nighttime died first. Daytime did not last very long alone.
Chapter 4
Bunwah was surely the most successful pet we ever had. A black and white floppy-eared female rabbit that actually liked people, Bunwah would hop merrily around the house and even sit on a lap. We fed it dandelion greens from the yard and broccoli stems among other things. It generally excreted in its wire mesh cage, though the acidity of its urine eventually rotted the metal.
Bunwah was good on several counts. It did not bark. It never needed to be taken on walks. Indeed, as a prey animal it was terrified of being outdoors. It was cuddly and only bit daughters’ fingers occasionally. You could catch it when it escaped in the house. It did not get into the trash. You could leave it enough pellets so that you didn’t have to race home to feed it or provide for its excretion, as long as somebody mopped up the pee afterward. Its droppings stank some, but at least they were contained and predictable. It never soiled the furniture and rugs. It lived with us for a few years and everyone was content.
Daughter #1 tried calling the rabbit Molly, evoking the memory of the murdered guinea pig. The name did not stick. Unfortunately, one day Bunwah seemed a bit out of sorts and was taken to the vet. The vet tried an injection, shortly after which Bunwah stiffened, had a coronary and died in his hands.
I knew I was in trouble.
More tomorrow !!
[full disclosure, Stuart’s hair is a little more grey these days. SB SM]
About the Author
Semi-curmudgeon Stuart Cohen has been accused of taking himself too seriously. But not lately. After graduating from Yale in the chaotic spring of 1970 he went skiing. The next year he
enrolled in trade school to learn the craft of photography. He spent 25 years as a commercial and editorial photographer and actually made a living at it. Along the way he took up writing and wrote three consumer books on photography for major publishers. He also wrote extensively in the photography trade press on industry trends and ethical issues.
Since leaving photography he has been the head of a symphony orchestra, synagogue
president, non-profit board member of various organizations and basketball coach to 12 –
14 year olds. His more recent and most important books include The Seventh System: The Thinking
Person’s Guide to the Human Emotional System. https://www.seventhsystem.net/ , and a Positive
Psychology book, Happier Tomorrow, Happier Today, Happier Right Now, 24 Proven Keys
to a More Satisfying Life https//HappierX3.com You should check them out.
He is divorced, and remarried to a woman to a woman who hates cats. He now lives in
Santa Fe and enjoys hiking and snowshoeing in the mountains.
Living for Nearly Damn Ever with the #%@&*! Dog
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 by Stuart Cohen. All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9833077-1-6
Cover photo of dog courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net
Please do not steal any part of this book, especially since it can be downloaded free.
Any quotes must be attributed. Please make sure you spell #%@&*! correctly.
Contact the author/publisher via email: sc@aya.yale.edu
Published by
Mezuries, P.O. Box 1271, Marblehead, MA 01945
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