Dear Dog People

I was walking along the seafront this Sunday afternoon enjoying the serene view of the sea. I felt so artistically inspired I even wrote a few lines of poetry on my phone to capture the scene and imprint it on my memory.

It was at this moment that I almost stepped in dog poo. 

After that occurred I almost stepped in some more. As I walked further along the delicate smell that was the sea turned sour with the powerful stench of excretion - canine excretion. 

My moment of soul soaring and poetry was stolen from right under my nose. Literally. Gone was the soft lilt of waves stroking the rocks - in its place: boisterous barking and mad panting. I turned my eyes to the beach were stood a group of dog-walkers huddled together in their big coats, leads hanging out of their pockets talking about, well I suppose, dogs. I walked on home baffled by the look of contentment on these people's faces. 

Dear dog people, I'm sorry but I cannot understand you. You purchase or inherit a creature that smells when it's wet, stuffs its nose in your groin for no apparent reason, jumps up at strangers causing you to apologize multiple times and forces you to brave the outdoors at least twice every single day come rain or shine. 

I spend a lot of time with women who have children and a few of them own a dog of some kind. They whine about how their children drive them mad but even so insist of possessing a dog that they, in the end, have to walk and clear up after daily on top of all the parenting and housework they have to do. 

While I'm talking about parents, let's take a moment to remember the ruin that both children and dogs alike bring to household furniture and decoration. If a child drops a plate or draws a recognisable picture of something on the wall, parents flip out and complain about how they can't have nice things because of the children. However if a dog shakes mud all over the new wallpaper or chews up a favourite pair of shoes, the owner only frowns at the guilty creature and perhaps squirts some water at it as punishment, only to pat it on the head five minutes later and say, "Well, it's all part of the deal, right?"

I cannot understand the willingness you people have to wash dogs either. They clean themselves but apparently that's not enough. You must bathe them as well. Getting myself into the shower is challenge enough; I cannot imagine forcing a creature who is in constant 'play mode' into a tub of water and soap only to be bathed myself as a result of its constant wriggling and squirming. 

I realise how incredibly cynical I must sound towards you, dog people, however there is one thing that does make me smile: the look of joy you have on your faces when your dog runs up to you at the end of a long day. That is, until you go into the kitchen where you kept your precious pet all day and find a calamity of half-chewed food and smashed crockey all across the floor. At this point my smile vanishes and I return to my original question: why? 

So there it is, dog people, I simply don't understand you. On that note, I will end this letter in true English fashion: I apologize for my cynicism (but I'm not sorry for what I have said). 

Sincerely,
A catless cat person