Still Another Lady with a Pet Dog
She acquired the dog fifteen years ago. She talks about getting rid of it.
Sometimes she says, "Don't visit today. The dog might bite you," or "I can't go out today. The dog wouldn't like it." Sometimes she confides, "He doesn't like anyone to get too near me," and it is difficult to tell whether she is proud of this possessive dog or afraid of it.
Over the years she has developed two explanations for its behavior. "It's the breed," she says. Or, as if the mystery lies in its early kennel life, she says, "I didn't train it, you know."
No one in her family likes the dog. At first they were intimidated by its pedigree and their lack of familiarity with the breed. They admired certain traits; its fastidious eating habits, for example. After a while they began making fun of it, imitating its clipped bark and peculiar wagging.
In the beginning, she took the dog to family gatherings, but the dog didn't travel well, disliked their yard, and created a dilemma for her: take the dog or leave it.
Fifteen years of ownership made her reluctant to part with her problematic pet. She has spoken wistfully that perhaps someday the dog will run off. Her friends tell her, "You can't spend your life waiting for your dog to disappear."
Lately, she blames herself for the dog's recalcitrance. "I'm not a good owner," she says. "I haven't learned the right commands. My voice is too soft." Once, in a moment of soul searching, she said, "Maybe I don't like dogs. Or this dog."
In the meantime, she feeds it vitamins and gourmet dog chow and keeps its kennel beautiful and spotlessly clean.
Frankly, I think this is an incredible amount of trouble to go to. After all, it's just a dog.
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