Loved Dog Convinces Cat Lovers

 Loved Dog Convinces Cat Lovers

A cat person eventually gets a dog and gains some insight into the meaning of love.

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When my daughter was seven years old, years ago, she informed me that if we didn't acquire a dog, it would ruin her life. If you've ever had a 7- year-old as a child, you are aware that there is no reasonable way to react to this. When your toddler cries, "But why you?," you can respond, "Because I said so," and reply, "No."

You may also acquire a dog.

This was a challenge for me since, well, I'll own it: I'm a dog person. For the record, this may or may not be related to an event that happened about 1967 that involved me, a dozen stray mangy mongrels with their teeth bared in hot pursuit, and my pink banana-seat bicycle.

One of Team Meow's Members
When a cute Lab or soft German shepherd came loping toward me, I was the one who flinched. Put me in a room with them. They were basically drooling on my lap, and I knew they wanted a scratch behind the ears, so I gave it to them. Rather, my back would tense up while I attempted to persuade the gullible dog to move on to more amiable ground. And by "convince," I mean a really clumsy gesture with the arm that was a hybrid of a shove and a head pat. My pals would discreetly call Rambo or Attila away from me if they saw this pathetic exchange. I'm not sure if they took this action for the dog's or my benefit. However, I was appreciative.

I firmly belong to Team Meow, if there is such a thing as dog people and cat people in the world. Cats don't slobber over you. You're not chased by cats. Cats don't really do much, which is one of the reasons I adore them. However, my father used to say, "No cat," and when I cried out, "But why?" he would reply, "Because I said so." My destiny was set when I wed a man who was allergic to cats.

The Time of Reckoning
It was simple at first to please my kid. I persuaded her that two gerbils are ten times better than one dog using basic first-grade math. She gave them the names Honey and Bunny, who were quickly joined by Jeter and Giambi, which my baseball bat christened. These four rodents have given me several years of dog-free bliss, and for that I am grateful.

Plan B was my go-to response after the gerbils passed away. I spent an hour or two each weekend taking my daughter, who is now ten years old, to the neighborhood pet store. My assumption, if you can call it that, was that she would be satisfied by a rotating cast of cute puppies.

It did, right up until a certain Sunday when a playful puppy refused to leave our side. He wailed his stubby round tail angrily as he did his enthusiastic and clumsy best to climb on our laps and nibble our fingers. He had curly poodle fur, big brown eyes, and floppy cocker spaniel ears. That's because he was a cock apo, which I found out later means "expensive mutt," half of each.

Our puppy playdate quickly became problematic.

The first words were, "Mom, he's so cute!" and intensified to "Can we get him, Mom? Could we please have him? Would you kindly ask for something, please?

And the next thing I know, I'm ten years old and pleading with my dad for a cat, just like in a bad film noir where the protagonist is about to have a flashback, which you know is coming because the picture gets all fuzzy and everything in the scene spins counter-clockwise. Could I please have a cat? Would you kindly ask for something, please? But no way, no how, no cat is what my dad keeps saying.

I couldn't subject her to that. Although I didn't want a dog, I also didn't want to enforce this arbitrary "no pets" rule on future generations. Parents always debate where to draw the line in the sand, and my distaste for dogs didn't seem to be a sufficiently strong one.

"Are you going to feed and walk him every day?" I enquired.

Yes, she exclaimed.

I knew it was the right decision when she gave me her brand-new puppy's big blue "somebody-wants-me" bow and hugged her. Looking back, I know we should have adopted from a shelter.

"This is the happiest day of my life, mom," the girl exclaimed.

For Trevor's Love
I was told Trevor (my daughter named him, not me) would weigh "no more than 15 pounds," but he ended up weighing 25 pounds and serving as a warning to others about what happens when you let a cat person own a dog.

Eventually, glaucoma took his sight in his final year as aging caught up with him. Trevor the Bouncing Dog got his nickname from his childhood ability to jump several feet into the air, just like he was on a trampoline. Those days are long gone.

Nevertheless, he continued to enjoy his walks, treats, and couch cuddles with his family. It was like having an elderly, furry roommate who took a lot of naps toward the end. He passed away from a baseball-sized tumor on his hip last year at the age of twelve.

I ask myself, "How did I, of all people, end up with a dog?" on occasion. However, Trevor demonstrated to me that an elderly person can learn new skills.

It was as if my heart had grown larger, because where there had been fear or disinterest in dogs, something unexpected had taken root. I couldn't help but want to hold Trevor, scratch his chin, and rub his belly after just one glance at him. My back grew softer, no longer stiff. My sweet, vivacious Trevor proved me wrong when I said I couldn't love a dog.

I still adore cats. However, dogs, much like children, demand more, so you have to give more, sometimes at the expense of your own needs. It turns into a charming pas de deux that raises the standard of love and affection for all time.

At 23, my daughter is living independently. She occasionally queries me about getting another dog. I tell her, "No, but you can."

Should she eventually have a child who begs to have a dog, please? Would you kindly ask for something, please? I hope she'll remember herself as a cute brown-eyed puppy with a big blue "somebody-wants-me" bow and that she'll say, "Yes! Yes!" again.