I'm a Dog Person

Ah yes, our pets. I'm a dog person, not a cat guy. I believe people who have cats are masochists. Where else can you get shredded upholstery, rugs, arms and fingers? ( My arm has been used as a race track with claws fully extended for better grip. I looked like I had been to my allergist who had run one of those lawn aerators over me. )

However, I do like dogs. ( Where else can you get the thrill of collecting poop, the earsplitting sound of barking, muddy paws on your pants and dog hair on your furniture? ) Nevertheless I still like dogs. I especially remember three of them. First, Mitsy – a purebred Pekingese – maybe 6 lbs of eager playful energy, who was my constant companion when I was in grade school. Mitsy invented a game we called “Try and catch me!” The four of us, Mom, Dad, my brother and I would make a circle on our lawn, Mitsy would proudly prance into the middle of the circle and the game was on! While we reached, dove and grabbed, Mitsy would bark excitedly, laugh ( sure looked like a laugh to us!) and dodge between us or run through our legs. We never caught her!

Then there was Sam – a purebred Samoyed, who eventually weighed about 50 lbs. Whom we learned to our exasperation liked peanuts – in the shell! Sam was left in our car, we came back to find peanut shucks all over our 1969 convertible Firebird. Sam was looking pleased with himself while we cleaned up the car – yes, we'd left the bag of peanuts in the car, Sam ripped open the bag and proceeded to eat all the peanuts – of course leaving shucks everywhere in the car. During Sam's first winter, we learned how much of a cold weather dog he was, as,  with his fur - less pink tummy he would lay on our ice covered porch and gnaw off the ice and snow! He also rolled snowballs with his nose!

Then we had Robin – a 90 pound plus Old English Sheep Dog, eyes covered in fur, pink tongue hanging out happily who took his duties seriously. He went with us summers up to Suntop Fire Lookout – where he greeted visitors, chased away T Rexes and fought a losing war with the local ground squirrels over his food dish. I have memories of Robin in the morning up there. I'd get up, fire up the wood stove, dress, let Robin out, walk down to the toilets – while Robin came along on his own. I'd clean the toilets – spray, wipe, paper and sweep, all the while hearing Robin happily snorting through the blueberry bushes outside. When I was finished, back up to the lookout through the cool damp fresh air. Partly back we'd hear the crackling of the wood stove. I'd fix a cup of tea, go back outside, sit with my feet hanging over the abyss to the west, drink my tea and admire the sun waking Mt. Rainier to my left. Robin would inevitably join me, staying there until I finished my tea and went back into the lookout.

I cannot imagine any cats doing anything as remotely pleasant!