Growing up in a family that hunts animals for food--you can all calm down, it's Pennsylvania--I have less sensitivity toward pets than your average person may have. This is not to say that I don't love my animals, that they don't have feelings or emotions or wants or needs, but the fact of the matter is they aren't people. My cat was eighteen years old when she died. I had that animal for most of my life and I loved her with all my heart, but even after all that time she was still a pet who had far outlived her life-span and a happy treasure I was willing to let go. By no means am I a cruel pet owner, nor am I a bad person for holding my rank on the food chain. If a deer wants to wield a rifle and feed me kibble and make me sleep on the floor, I'll cuddle that linoleum willingly...I did it enough in college anyway.
We now interrupt this daily scheduled bitching to announce that someone who doesn't much care for talking about her own beloved pets, sure as FUCK does not want to hear about your little rat, random person in the supermarket.
Alright, friends, stay cool. If I've met your animal, or child (the two can be interchangeable in this case), and have formed a relationship with your animal...or child...I will look at your photos and listen to your stories and suck it up for the sake of our friendship. However, complete strangers wanting to show me photos of their pets is where I draw the line.
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| Top: Ebony (RIP), Bottom: Misty |
embarrassment by performing the same routine on everyone
"You have to see this! I swear it's the most hilarious thing you'll see today," one of them finally announced to me.
"Please do not put that thing near my face. I have no interest in looking at your cat," I said coldly while her cheeks turned a deep red. "Your loss," she growled, "and by the way it's a chinchilla." Having misunderstood that the hilarity was lost on the rest of us, they still decided to place their order under the alias of their pets. I don't remember the names. Muffy and Cooter, no doubt.
The second time something like this happened I was in Petco, which is a slightly more understandable setting to encounter people that like to talk about animals. My mother and I wanted to give Misty a bath before the holidays, and not having the facilities to handle a bucking, twitching 50lb dog took her to the nearest self-wash station. When we arrived the bathy-ma-thing was occupied so I waited while Mom went to pay. Unsurprisingly, the nearest employee, a teenage girl with thick-rimmed glasses and eyebrow piercing, came dawdling over wanting to pet our dog. We exchanged brief conversation about the protocol for dog-washing and which shampoo was best, then got right down to the facts. What's her name? How old is she? Is she a rescue? How long have you had her? And so on and so on. I answered each prompt, but looked, the whole time, at my dog instead of the girl hoping she would understand my pain and pee on the floor. When the young lady finally ran out of questions she stared at me, willing me to ask her about her dog while I craned my neck to see if my mother was on her way to save me.
"This is Duncan." She shoved her phone at me.
"Cute. How old is he?"
"Duncan. Duncan is three, but he has as much grey hair is Misty here." (My dog is 11yo)
"Poor fella," I chortled, trying to fit in.
"Duncan," she repeated as if I hadn't caught it the first three times. "Yeah...Duncan is such a rascal."
Where was my mother? Testing chew toys? Hiding in the car? I waited angrily as Petco employee continued to tell me unsolicited stories about Duncan, until I finally had ingenious and diabolical idea to 'accidentally' let Misty off her leash. In an instant she was free, and off she went, my noble steed, running toward the hamster cages.
"Oh shoot! This one's a rascal too!" I shouted as I went chasing down the aisle after her. By the time I returned so had my mother who was, of course, now being shown photos of Duncan; it took all of me to not leave her in that predicament. Thirty minutes later when we had finished washing, drying, and fluffing our pooch we were ready to leave when the girl returned. Knowing she only had the sweetest intentions, I nudged my mom, "Crap. Say something nice to her. I don't know how to be nice to her."
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart. And Merry Christmas to your puppy too."
"Duncan."
Thanks for clearing that up.
Pets are a great topic for first dates or for awkwardly long car rides, but talking about pets is barely less generic than discussing the weather. Caring about the weather, though, is at least something I can relate to. I find it so difficult to muster up the energy to feign enthusiasm over something I simply do not care about, which can be problematic since people tend to care very deeply about their pets. Some folks take it very personally if, like me, you insult their obsession with their animals. Again, let me state that I love my dog, but aside from this post I don't really care if you know it or not. People who spend excessive amounts of money on their animals are people I just cannot relate to. I'm sorry; your dog is a yorkie, not a freaking Clydesdale.
I will leave you with a lesson from one final example:
If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to ask them about him or her. If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to tell the family about your dog for whom you have an actual twin size mattress even though it's only a small terrier. If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to tell the family about how your two cats are now so old and confused that the eat the dingleberries that fall off your dog's ass. DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO THAT. Please.
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| bitch hates taking pictures with me |
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