Get A Dog
August 23, 2011 § 26 Comments
If I had had a pound for the number of people who have told me to get a dog. Fuck, I’d be rich.
The main thrust of their argument is not so much for the companionship – although that plays a part no doubt – because most people know I have children who I can hug and kiss as a plankton might her dog and who can be called upon to give me hugs and slobbery kisses, like dogs. And who still romp and tumble about and generally roll in the dirt like puppies. And, who need lunging and exercising, like dogs. And who eat with a certain freneticism and lack of social grace, like dogs. Who cost me a merry fortune in biscuits and playthings, and who want me to throw them things (balls, food) like dogs. Who, now they are getting older, have a tendency to smell quite high, like dogs. And so forth.
No, I think people tell me to get a dog – in the same way they tell me to go on a course or a walking holiday (cf. Go On A Course, Why Don’t You?) – because they swear I will find the love of my life out dog walking. Each one of them has a story to tell about a plankton they know who is no longer a plankton because she met a fellow dog owner out walking his dog and their eyes met as his lurcher was sniffing her poodle’s arse. These stories exist a bit like that urban myth about the woman out for revenge on a cheating partner who rang the speaking clock from his phone when he was out of the country so on his return he had to face a bill of thousands of pounds. (Only a week ago, when on holiday, I met someone who told me that that had happened to a friend of a friend of his and I thought, can you be for real, that you believed it and hadn’t heard that one a million times before?)
Anyway, there’s just one problem with this piece of advice. I am a single mother with a certain amount on my plate already what with work etc. I am not even remotely complaining but I will say this: The last thing I want is a dog.
Lovely though they are, I am sure, I am not really a tremendous dog-lover and nor am I a tremendous one for walks, so meeting and falling for Mr Right out walking in the park when his lurcher is dogging with my – what? labrador? spaniel? – is not a scenario I can very easily envisage and, call me narrow-minded, does not feature very prominently in my most wistful wishings.