Large dog, small dog
I realized something about myself today. Ever since I can remember I’ve always said that if I ever owned a dog, it would be a large dog. This opinion was derived from the beauty of certain large dog breeds such as german shepherds and irish setters. It could also be from the fact that the family dog during my childhood was medium-large. I know that I consciously belived that a large dog would be a better home guardian than a small one. Also somehow in my brain small dog = yappy & annoying. Somehow I believed that small dogs were for people who carried them around everywhere, dyed them pink, and named them Froo-froo. I managed to continue in this assumption despite the fact that I know many owners of small dogs who are nothing at all like that.
Today my assumptions have shifted because I finally recognized something about my own behavior. When I am confronted with a dog, I am reluctant to touch it. I’ve always told myself that this reaction is due to my animal hair allergies. But the fact is that it is only large dogs I am reluctant to touch. I’ll imediately pet, scratch, pick-up, and snoogle a small dog with no concern for allergies at all. This finally clicked in my head today when Gleek found a pair of cat-sized poodle-mixes in our front yard. I scratched them and found a stray hope in my head that their owners would not be found so I could keep them because they were so cute. That stray thought was despite the fact that I have no intention of taking on the responsibility of a dog right now. We found the owner visiting next door and returned the dogs. But now I’m left to ponder that maybe I’m not a large dog person and maybe I never have been. The insight is fairly moot since I don’t intend to acquire an animal right now, but it is fascinating to notice how I’ve been fooling myself for years.