Myhusbandhasalreadynamedourdogs.Dogsthatwedonothave
inourpossession.Dogsthatmayenterourlivesfromarescue
shelterinsomedistant,unknowablefuturetobefedandwalkedand
lovedlikethechildrenwedon’thave,either.There’sGeoffreyand
Gremlin.Intime,therewillbemore.AndincaseIforget,Chrishas
anextremelygratinghabitofcallingeverydogorfurrycreaturewe
encounter‘Geoffrey’.
I’dliketothinkit’snotjusthisjoyinmetaphoricallypullingmypigtails
thatmotivatesthis,butapartofmewonders.Yousee,I’mnota‘dog
person’.Idon’tslowdowntopatastranger’spet.Idon’tfavourite
friends’selfieswiththeirfurbabies.Imightseeapuppyandthink
it’ssortofcute,butIdon’tsquealaboutitatdecibelsonlytheycan
hear.Irespectdogsfromadistance,andhopethatwhentheytrot
aroundmetheywon’tlickmyfeetor,aswasoncethecase,pummel
intomeandknockmedownwhileI’mtryingtoexercise.
Formostofmylife,whenitcomestodogs,I’vewaveredbetween
curiosityandindifference.Thisobviouslygrowsmoredifficultthe
moreGeoffreysweencounter.“Lookatthepooch!”Chriswillsay
inavoiceusuallyreservedforcutebabies,beforethrowingme
alookofbarelyconcealedjudgment.Andfrankly,I’mtiredofit.
Wheneversomeonesaystome,“You’renotadogperson,”it’swith
thesamesympatheticheadtiltIusedtogetwhentheythoughtI’d
beeternallysingle.Likethere’ssomethingmissingfrommylife.Ortheysendmeaharsherlookthatteeterstowards,“You’rea
subhuman,unfeelingcreature.”
However,justlikegreatloves,caninepartnershipsarenotfor
everyone.Maybeit’sbecauseIhaveanaversiontopeopletreating
dogslikefellowhumans.Ican’tlookatphotosofdogsdressedin
suitswithoutshivering,anddogsusedasaccessoriesalsogiveme
thecreeps.Butthenagain,maybeIwasjustbornthisway.
Ofcourse,I’mnotheartless.It’snotthatIdon’tcarefororlike
animals.IhadacatnamedSamsononcewithwhomIgotalong
famouslyformanyyears,untilhestartedshittingonthecarpetin
thesamespotoverandoveragain.AndI’mnotcompletelyagainst
dogs.Iadmitthatsometimesthey’rekindofcute–someofthem
evenseemaffectionate.
Truthfully,thecoordinatesareshiftingeversoslightly.Thisslowtilt
firstbeganwhenImovednextdoortoadaintydachshundwhichhad
anattitudeof‘kissthering’Ifoundratheramusing.Shewouldpeein
thespotChrisparkedhisbicycletomarktheterritoryonhisbehalf,
likesomefierce,pint-sizedbodyguard.Whenwereturnedfroma
month-longholiday,sheleapttowardsmeexcitedly,butwhenshe
firstencounteredChris,sheliterallypeedfromexcitement.
Onanotheroccasion,Chriswastaskedwithwalkinghisbest
mate’sdog.Somehowtheleashendedupinmyhands.Ireluctantly
concededthatthedog,withhisenthusiastictrotandbeseeching
eyes,movedmealittle.Myhusbandcontinuestoholdthisover
me.“Youlikedwalkinghim,admitit,”hesays,likehe’stryingtoget
metoconfesstoapettycrime.
Chrisdoesn’tunderstandmyreticence.Heshakeshishead,
mystifiedthatIdon’tthinkdogsarethegreatestthingever,better
thanhumans.Look,Ican’tdisagreewiththatcompletely–alot
ofthemarekindofsweet,eveniftheyareridiculouslyneedy.They’re
probablyawholelotnicerthanalotofhumans.But–andI’veput
thisdowntosomeunknowablerespectfortheanimalkingdom–I’m
justnotadogperson.
Also,I’mallergic.not a dog’s chance
WHEN IT COMES TO CANINES,
AMAL AWAD JUST ISN’T A BIG FAN.
PhotoNoël Wellsrant