I Hate Dogs

Actually, not really.  I had dogs growing up.  I liked my dogs.  They were always outside.  That is where dogs belong.  If they are allowed inside, and I’m not sure that they should be under normal circumstances, one should not be able to tell upon entering the home that a dog lives there.  Obvious exceptions are when it is seen or heard (if the dog does not know the person in question).  One should not be able to tell from interacting with someone that they have dogs.

I hate it when dog owners claim that their dogs are part of the family, yet they don’t treat them like they are.  They never bathe them.  They never groom them.  They never discipline them.  They seldom clean up after them.  They rarely pay any attention to them except to let them outside so they can answer the call of nature.

So, your dogs are family.  Fine.  Don’t you require your human family members to bathe when they stink?  Don’t you teach your family members (if they don’t have the mental capacity or life experience to already know) not to jump on and lick guests and other members of the family, unless solicited?

LF has a dog.  Actually, she lives with three adult dogs from the same litter.  I know, I’ve mentioned this before.  Shut the fuck up.  I’m going to bitch about it again.  All of the things in the preceding paragraph are true regarding her and the one dog that is supposed to be hers, as well as the other two.

I complain when her mutt comes into the room when we’re trying to sleep, and jumps up onto the foot of the bed, right where my feet were.  She half-heartedly shoos him down, which he completely ignores.  She then informs me that, well, I am invading his territory, since he was sleeping with her before I was.

The dogs are allowed on any furniture that they wish, and when they jump up on people and smother them with doggie kisses, they receive little or no correction. Her bed and all her clothing are covered with dog hair.

Every piece of furniture in the house is covered in dog hair.  So much so that when I leave, even after a brief visit, there are piles of dog hair on my car seat, transferred from sitting on her furniture.  The floor is covered in dog hair – not just the corners.  There is dog hair in the fucking refrigerator.  How the holy hell does that happen?!?

Unless it is fresh out of the dryer, all her clothes smell like dog, in addition to containing the standard allotment of dog hair.  LF isn’t much on perfume, and I’m OK with that.  However, it is a huge turnoff for me when I go to hug or cuddle with her, and I get a nose full of Eau De Unwashed Dog.  My fucking taint smells better after three days of hard work and no shower.

We have discussed the mutt in regards to if we ever take up residence together.  She has agreed to my minimum demands: Dog is prohibited from entering our bedroom, without exception.  Dog must be bathed regularly (every week, or bi-weekly at most – if he smells like a dog, he needs a fucking bath).  Dog must be brushed at least three times per week, preferably daily, and any shedding between grooming sessions needs to be cleaned up regularly.  Dog is not allowed on any furniture.

I’m almost certain that she will not keep up even half of these requirements.  It is one of many reasons why I may never finish the house.

I used to think of myself as a dog person.  Now, I’m leaning more towards cats.  Not that I am a fan of any kind of pet – animals should serve a purpose beyond just basic companionship.  Cats can be toilet trained, de-clawed, and require a lot less grooming than most dogs to manage shedding. Unfortunately, they tend to be less reliable at attacking intruders.

OK, rant over.