No Pets!

I'm one of a handful of earthlings who doesn't adore animals, especially the furry, cuddly kind.  Before you judge me too harshly, you should know that I grew up on a farm where I was allergic to all the animals and the crops that fed them. Dogs and cats were considered outdoor animals and never allowed in the house. Furthermore, we shared a hundred-year-old farmhouse with numerous families of mice that skittered between the walls at night. As a child, I would quake in my bed with the covers pulled snugly about me until sleep could no longer be avoided.

My children, like most--I've learned from teaching hundreds of children--entered the world loving animals, especially the furry, cuddly kind.  Oh, bother!  As soon as they were able to speak, they begged for pets.  I allowed parakeets and baby ducks at Easter, but absolutely drew the line at cats or dogs.  At the age of five or six, my daughter informed me most adamantly, "When I grow up I'm going to have as many animals as I want, maybe a million, zillion and you won't be able to stop me 'cause I'll be a grown-up."  Aside: She has three horses and six or seven dogs--I can't keep up with her ever-expanding menagerie--plus rabbits and who knows what else?

Well, I held out for eleven triumphant years, finally acquiescing to getting a dog when our youngest turned twelve.  According to my husband (the turn-coat), "pets are an important part of childhood and help children learn responsibility."  Of course, it was I who learned to be responsible by feeding, grooming, bathing, walking and training the dog.

At first, Blaze was to be an outside dog . . . how else would I give in to the twelve-year conspiracy against me?   My husband even erected a fence around the back yard and built a heated dog house for the creature. Finally we brought home a frisky puppy from the Humane Society.  We named him Blaze because of the blaze of white fur on his chest, and the kids enjoyed running and playing with him in the back yard.  Soon Blaze had wormed himself into the family room for an hour each evening to join us by the warm fireplace. But of course, he had to go back outside to sleep.

Before I realized what had happened, Blaze's heated doghouse had been abandoned and he had firmly established himself as a full-fledged member of our family.  Okay, I know what you're thinking, but, in my defense, Blaze was actually a human disguised in a luxurious chestnut coat with languid brown eyes, the charisma of a rock star and the intelligence of a genius.  He obediently refrained from climbing on the furniture, going upstairs or entering the formal living room and he hardly ever barked.  He could perform all manner of parlor tricks and understood every word we spoke to him.

Thirteen years later, it was I who held the old guy on my lap as my husband and I took him to the vet for our final "farewell," tears streaming down both of our faces.  By then our kids were grown and had pets--and children--of their own.  I'll never have another pet, not because furry animals make me sneeze, wheeze and itch (and they do), but because no pet, however cuddly, intelligent or obedient could ever measure up to Blaze, the dog I didn't want.