A hard-to-swallow truth: Not everyone loves dogs

Guest post by Sean, former "not a dog person"

I grew up being completely indifferent to whether or not dogs existed on planet Earth.

In fact, two things kinda bothered me about dogs:

• Why did so many of the dogs in the neighborhood make so much noise for no apparent reason (and how could anyone possibly live with that)?

• Why did some people go on and on about how much they like dogs and feel the need to swoon over every dog they saw in person or on social media?

I felt a distinct social pressure that I was supposed to express my unfailing love for all dogs — especially when I was with a group of friends who clearly had a personal and emotional stake in other’s opinions of their furry friends.

A bushel of bad-apple dogs left me with negative feelings towards the whole species.

Although I infrequently saw (and practically never interacted with) dogs growing up, I wasn’t impressed with what I witnessed.

The most visible and audible dogs were the ones being loud and obnoxious. I’m sure I saw a reasonable amount of well-behaved dogs as well, but they simply blended in. All I ever really noticed were the loud dogs, the jumpy dogs, and the “I will protect this property with my life” dogs.

While Haley was growing up in a dog-loving family, I soon found myself in a dog-fearing family. The physical and emotional pain that my mom and sister underwent after being bitten by dogs during my childhood was quite shocking.

Even though she grew up with a family dog, my mom soon went from uneasy to terrified around canines, especially when they ran at her unleashed. As an impressionable kid, I couldn’t help but wonder: Should I be scared, too?

A few traumatic dog interactions can leave permanent scars.

The stories my sister and mom told me about being bitten by a dog are ones that I now know to be all too common.

The dogs “bit them out of nowhere” and the owners didn’t take any responsibility. “Ooh, I’m so sorry, he never does anything like that, he’s always just the sweetest dog!” doesn’t really do a whole lot to help — and it’s honestly not the most believable story at that point.

In my experience, there was no concept of a responsible owner or a well-behaved dog. I had only ever seen a complete removal from responsibility by the owner, and people acting as if that’s just how dogs are — but for some unknown reason we tolerate them because they are so amazing…? (Something I had never come close to seeing.) 

Even now, when I visit home and go for a walk with my mom, I can count on a lively game of frogger as we zigzag across the street. It’s all prompted by my mom’s nervous statement, “oh let’s cross the street here, there’s a scary dog at the next house that runs to the end of its yard barking”.

I was never truly scared of dogs myself, but I was certainly given no reason to like them.

Scout has been a perfect ambassador for polite, loveable dogs — but I am not a naive convert.

I can comfortably say that Scout is the first dog I actively like.

Although my indifference towards dogs has waned, I still often find myself at best tolerant of other dogs. Being exposed to a cuddly, generally very well-behaved, and exceptionally sweet cattle-herder in Scout has very much shifted my perspective — but the background built up in my childhood is hard to forget.

The good news is that this background has given me a unique perspective on how I think about my responsibility in owning Scout and how I let her interact with other people.

Scout is Haley’s dog first — but I share a large part of the responsibility and often find myself in charge of her. Whenever I’m holding the other end of the leash, I find it quite natural to draw on my past experiences and imagine myself as the other person when we are passing someone on the sidewalk or even sitting in our apartment.

My goal is not perfection but rather sensibly and reasonably mitigating risks.

As much as Haley builds me up, I am by no means flawless or always perfectly on my guard.

Quite honestly, I’m 100% ok with that. I expect to make mistakes. I also think it is unreasonable to go wildly out of my way and seriously inconvenience myself to try and account for all 1,000 worst case scenarios unless absolutely necessary.

I do, however, always look to excel at the really easy, low-effort things that can make a big difference to some people.

From my mom, I know that an uncontrolled (especially off-leash) dog can be incredibly frightening, even if they are still far away. I have heard firsthand the ways that an imagination can run wild, and it is always impossible to tell if the dog is perfectly trained to their owner’s directions — especially at a distance.

When I’m around people with Scout, I try to indicate to them that I’m paying attention, actively in control of Scout, and preempting any potentially unpleasant situations. Some people find it terrifying if a human isn’t solidly holding of the other end of the leash — they imagine all the ways the dog could break free and come running at them.

A firm grip, no cell phone in hand, and some eye contact all tell the approaching person that I know what’s going on. If it’s someone like my mom, I want to help them avoid having heart-stopping fear coursing through their veins.

A few simple actions and expectations keep us from ever being the nuisance dog / owner combo I grew up knowing.

I also think it’s important to keep a respectful distance between Scout and any oncoming stranger. Although she has nothing but curiosity for people, I can’t possibly expect that every person has the same love for her.

It is pretty easy to tell when the person we are approaching really loves dogs or is really uncomfortable around dogs. Both of these are signs that I need to act. As we are approaching someone are, I typically use some combination of the following:

• Don’t let Scout walk directly at anyone

• Don’t let her lunge at anyone’s ankles for a passing sniff

• Don’t let anyone run at Scout and make her uncomfortable, especially if they are screaming “doggy doggy I love doggies”

• Put Scout on the other side of me so that I am in between her and the other person

• Step fully off the sidewalk and walk in the grass to give more space

In everything I do and everywhere I go with Scout, my main consideration is to never let her be a nuisance or scare anyone.

Coming from my background, I certainly refuse to act like Scout is an angel that can do no wrong in any little way. However, I do have to set realistic expectations that she is a dog and is going to act as such, with very different default instincts than are normal in humans.

I fully expect Scout to behave well — and that is fully my responsibility.

I also expect that other people can peacefully coexist with us.

Although my line for what constitutes a dog being annoying and misbehaving is probably much different than a lifelong dog lover, it seems to me that removing extreme misbehavior of both the dog and owner — as well as being conscious of the little things that can make a big difference to peace of mind for other people — are both simple and necessary. This is what I strive for when I am holding the leash.

I can’t imagine letting Scout be the dog that scares someone like my mom because of my negligence.