Every Little Thing by April Jeppson

 

This week I was out at a friend’s house, and he has a dog. The dog’s name is Sweatpea, and yet I often refer to her as puppy or dog. When I’m done playing fetch, I just look at her and I’ll say, “No thank you, puppy, I don’t want to throw sticks right now.”

At one point, I’m trying to help my friend hold something up, and this dog is just up in my business. I calmly say, “Dog, I need you to go away, you’re too close to me.” My friend gives me an odd look and then says with authority, while pointing his finger toward the door, “Hey Sweatpea, get out!” And, voila, the dog listened.

I’m not a complete idiot when it comes to animals. I grew up with an outside dog that I was basically afraid of. There was nothing to actually fear, but the dog had teeth and jumped, and as a kid that was enough to glue me on top the picnic table whenever she’d come over.

I remember spending the night at my cousin’s house and discovered that her giant dog sleeps in her bed at night. I was trying so hard to be cool with it, but I’m sure my face showed a nice mixture of panic and disgust. Won’t he kick you? Does he lick you in your sleep? What if your arm moves and accidently goes in his giant mouth? Will his slobber get on me? Oh, his breath!

I never had the desire to have a pet. My friends would see a dog and go right in for the pet and nuzzle. I’d see a dog and I’d try not to make direct eye contact with it because I was told they could smell my fear and might attack. I think I got my bear facts mixed up with my puppy facts.

As an adult, I simply tell people that you can’t train a dog to do the dishes when they get older, so I had kids instead. It’s a humorous response and gets me out of saying the fatal words, “I don’t want a dog.”

The look people give you when they find out you don’t want a dog is intense. At first they think they misheard you. Then, when they realize what you’ve said, they ask about allergies because she can’t be for real. Then, whey they come to the full realization that I’m making a choice to not have pets, they wonder if I’m a monster. Because what kind of serial murderer must you be if you don’t want a soft, snuggly puppy?

I’m slightly better with cats. I was at a friend’s house yesterday, and her cat curled up in my lap. I didn’t really care, but at that moment I wanted my lap cat-free. I tried to shove the cat on the floor, but it was as if it was stuck to me. I asked the cat nicely to vacate my lap and tried to slide it off of me again, but alas. Cat glue is strong. My friend giggled and then picked up the cat from my lap and gave it a little toss onto the floor.

Well, I could have done that. I could have tossed her cat and I could have raised my voice at my friend’s dog and told him to go away. But here’s the thing. I know so little about animals. I’m genuinely afraid that I’ll toss a cat and then hurt it or I’ll speak sternly to a dog and people will look at me and think, “Geeze woman, what did that dog ever do to you?”

Just because my natural instinct isn’t to nuzzle into their fur and use a baby voice, doesn’t mean I want to cause animals harm. I don’t like animals, but that doesn’t make me a monster. I don’t hate animals, I just don’t want one.

So if you see me out and about this summer, I promise I’m not going to pet your dog. In return you don’t have to ask about my children or even look at them. They can smell fear, you know.

Albert Lean April Jeppson is a wife, mom, coach and encourager of dreams.