I detest dogs.
The above is a fact of indisputable and unchangeable certitude. I know beyond all reasonable doubt that no, I would not like your gorgeous greyhound George if only I were to give him a chance. I can state with absolute certainty that your titchy little Trixibell will not convert me into a lover of all things furry, and no, I categorically won’t realise that your best buddy Fang isn’t at all like other alsations. Allow me to apologise profusely, but I am simply not interested in his supposed sunny disposition. Oh and while we are on the subject of things that allegedly reside within your area of expertise: Tell me, how exactly do you know for sure that the wild beast masquerading as your domestic pet is not going to bite me? You perhaps know with absolute certainty that you yourself are not going to sink your own incisors into my sensitive flesh, but unless you have extracted all of Fang’s many,sharp, pointed teeth, you should not state with conviction that he won’t either! Please stop trying to make me see the error of my ways, and come and join you in your slobber-embracing, flea-tolerating, animal-loving stance – it’s downright annoying!
In the spirit of fairness, I feel it necessary to point out that this is a mutual dislike; your canine companions hold a special kind of contempt for me too (this is what makes me suspect that they may break their no-biting record as a one-off exclusive event). It is for this reason, that it is your job (as a responsible dog-owner), to keep your fetid friends as far from me as is physically possible, most certainly on a lead and preferably suitably muzzled. I don’t think this is a big ask.
I know you say that I shouldn’t be afraid of your massive beast (said the actress to the bishop), I know as I have heard it on many, MANY an occasion… But the fact that you state proudly that he would kill a burglar on command does in no way reassure me! What if he mishears your command to sit and thinks you’re informing him I just robbed your house? That calculating way he’s looking at me, I think it rather likely he may misunderstand you on purpose…
Whilst on the subject of massive idiots, sorry, I mean beasts, I should probably point out that despite the fact you clearly think your staffie makes you look macho, when I cross the road it is not because I am remotely scared of you. You couldn’t punch your way out of a soggy cardboard box. In actual fact, I am crossing the road because I am of the opinion that your dog is infinitely more intelligent than you are and is, therefore, pretty likely to attempt to escape from your clutches at any given opportunity. Quite possibly by running in my direction.
There is obviously many a thing I actively abhor (your average staffie owner aside): Witnessing fat men prancing around in skinny jeans; those horrid unhygienic cloth hand towels on a never-ending loop, popular in scabby station toilets; Keira-effing-Knightly; people who can’t differentiate between ‘their’ and ‘there’; individuals who turn their noses up at the mere thought of haggis, yet happily stuff their hypocritical faces with Tesco value sausages; those who extol the virtues of the pseudoscience-masquerading-as-medicine that is homeopathy… I could continue indefinitely… But returning to the subject in question, yes I dislike dogs, but that is primarily because I am scared of them. Massively so. Therein lies the difference: the above annoyances are just that – annoying (very annoying), but dogs are downright terrifying. Dogs are hairy, smelly and slobbering. They can run much faster than I can and have massive teeth. They bark and they growl and they jump. AND I CAN’T HELP BEING SCARED OF THEM.
The BF is terrified too. (Sorry if I’m undermining your masculinity here, sorry also that I wasn’t totally telling the truth when I promised you wouldn’t feature in my Grievances…) Whenever we happen upon an unleashed dog when out and about, a battle commences as to who manages to employ the other as a human shield first. (Rather amusing to onlookers, I’m sure, when the animal in question is a tiny puppy…). The BF has the dubious excuse that he is a cat lover. Me, I don’t play favourites: I find them pretty repulsive, too. (How can you possibly claim your cat is a wonderfully clean and clever creature when it spends half the day licking its own bumhole?!) However, the fact remains that dogs are scarier.
Dogs also irrefutably make more mess than cats do. I could probably write an entire essay on the waste of time and money that comprises the signs stating that culprits will be fined hundreds of pounds if they don’t bin it and bag it. When has this ever actually occurred? More to the point, where has it occurred? Certainly not in my neighbourhood if the current state of the pavements is anything to go by.
In conclusion (must wrap it up here, there’s a dog barking incessantly next door and I need to draft another letter to the council), I reckon we should call it a stalemate: don’t you try and convert me to your dog loving ways, and I’ll stop talking about your beloved sidekicks and shall move swiftly on to another contentious subject…