Not A Dog Person


Almost every day, my youngest son asks me if we can get a dog.

My answer is always the same. “I got you a baby sister instead.” 

I am not a dog person. Not even remotely.

I’m not sure why I don’t like dogs. I’ve never had a traumatizing incident with a canine. In fact, I grew up with dogs. My childhood dogs were fine, but I was never overly attached to them. Perhaps it’s because I have a cold, black heart? Or maybe it’s for the following reasons…

1. Dogs smell. Their breath is all hot and beefy. I hate when dogs lick me. Their meaty mouth slobber gets everywhere and it lingers long after I’ve washed the affected area thoroughly with soap and water. And don’t even get me started on wet dog smell. I classify wet dog smell as being in the same league as these offensive odors; wormy smell that is overwhelming when it rains, burning plastic containers in my dishwasher, Thurso Quebec and old dirty dish rags. If I had a dog, I would follow the golden Gremlin rule of NEVER getting it wet.

2. Dogs are total pervs. They always go straight for your crotch. Big dogs, small dogs, old dogs, puppies, they’re all obsessed with sniffing your privates. How awkward is it when you’re like meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time and their beloved family dog won’t stop rooting around in your business? And dogs love to hump. THEY LOVE IT. There is nothing worse than having your leg violated by a horny hound. 

3. Dogs are like toddlers that never grow up. Not only do you have to feed them and bathe them, you also have to make arrangements for someone to look after your dog if you’re going away. Dogs have zero independence. They depend on their human to walk them and brush them and pick up their poop. They literally can’t do anything on their own. And what do humans get in return for taking such excellent care of their canine companions? Dog hair all over their clothes, astronomical vet bills and the joy of using plastic bags to pick up their shit.

I don’t want to say that I hate all dogs. That wouldn’t be fair. I do actually like one dog. He belongs to my best friend. His name is Bui. He’s a male dog who has never once humped me or sniffed my privates. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him bark. He’s very civilized and doesn’t seem overly needy. The reason why Bui is such a nice dog is because he is actually part cat. I whole heartily believe that Bui’s parents were engaged in a very taboo relationship.

You see, Bui’s father was a blue collar, working class dog named Ralph. He worked long hours at the local steel mill. Francesca was the beautiful feline companion of the steel mill’s owner. She was fluffy and white and she fell hard for Ralph from the moment their eyes met. They began a torrid and highly secret affair. What began as something purely physical soon turned into a deep love.

One winter night, the lovers where discovered canoodling by the mill owner. In a fit of rage, the owner banished Ralph from his steel mill and banned Francesca from ever seeing him again. Francesca went into a deep depression for several weeks until she learned that she was pregnant with Ralph’s baby. When she mustered up enough courage, she escaped from the mill owner’s home. She ran quickly into the night, only stopping once she was outside Ralph’s door. He had only taken her to his small apartment once, saying that he was embarrassed to bring such a classy cat to his crummy bachelor pad. She softly knocked at the door. When Ralph appeared he couldn’t believe his eyes.He swooped her up in his arms and they hugged and cried and laughed. Knowing that the canines and felines of their town would not be excepting of their interspecies relationship, Ralph and Francesca fled to the most remote corner of the forest. They lived a simple life full of love and joy. Their happiness was amplified by the birth of their baby boy, Bui. 

When Bui became a teenager, his insatiable curiosity to see the world overwhelmed him. His parents reluctantly let him leave the forest. Bui went on many grand adventures before settling down with my best friend in a small town in Eastern Ontario. 

The moral of this story is that if all dogs were raised partly by cats, I would like them more.

Also, if there were such a thing as a non smelly, non pervy, independent dog that could clean up its own poop, I MIGHT consider getting one as a pet…


Actually, no. I just thought about it. 

I’m still not a dog person.



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7 thoughts on “Not A Dog Person

  1. Dylan Hearn says:

    Love the blog. You might like my blog on cats to give a different perspective

  2. Mom says:

    How can you be my daughter, Buffy wasn’t mentioned even once.

  3. Buffy, faithful to the end no matter what anyone does or says, even if it hurts, really, really bad and it would be so easy just to take a quick nip out of somebody when then walked by or were taking a nap, maybe writing a blog .or like that . . . . says:

    Bravo for helping shed the shame that still shrouds cats and dogs who love. You empower me to declare that yes, I am a dog, but I am also a dog who loves cats. And yes, I am a bitch, but I am also a bitch that loves bitches! And cat bitches (not catty bitches) love me back – check out Lola and me at
    PS: Your comments on humping needed to be said – what IS that?

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