You Love Them or Hate Them

I'm talking about dogs of course.

I don't know what happened to me as a child. But somewhere along the way, earlier than I can remember, I became petrified of dogs. For as long as I can recall I have been scared to death of them. I have never been bitten by one or attacked by one. Yet, all dogs are the enemy.

I can still see me as a little girl running for my life down the long street my friend Kirsten lived on. I ran wildly, screaming all the way. Behind me, drooling and barking at my heels, well, yapping really, was the littlest dog you can imagine. I was sure I was going to die right then and there if that dog caught up with me. After what seemed like an endless street and an eternity of running, I finally made it to another friends garage where I tearfully found refuge and my safety. It took getting that little tiny puppy put back in the backyard to get me to come out of whatever I was hiding behind.

I truly fear dogs. Friends put their dogs in the bathroom or the garage when I come over. I wander to the opposite side of Joe when I see a dog will pass us on my side. I have never owned a dog. I never want to own a dog. Joe would have us own a dog, but he doesn't help the situation by telling me about all the facial traumas he sees due to dog bites. It's never going to happen. Not a dog. No way.

Not only am I scared silly by these clearly deadly animals, but I have no idea what different dogs are called. Breeds? What's that? All I know are Dalmatians, those are obvious. And then of course Great Danes. As if dogs weren't frightening enough, looking into that horse like build, eye to eye, about puts me over the edge. Other than that, they are all simply the same...the enemy.

Surprisingly, my girls have not inherited my aversion to dogs. They seem to call them cute, and want to pet them all the time. Go figure. While we were in Hawaii, the girls spent a lot of time at my sisters Nicole's house. They have a dog. And, like any other dog, I'm also terrified of big-friendly-nice-yellow-whatever breed of dog it is, Michael. From what I was told, unlike me, Gwen, wasn't afraid of him. She loved "a Mike-all". Ever since her time in Arizona, every time she sees any kind of dog, she calls out "a Mike-all, a Mike-all."

The other day we were in the car in a parking lot. Gwen looked out her window and started calling and pointing to "a Mike-all". Michael in this case, was an itty bitty tiny black dog in the car next to us. I told her "That's not Michael." And then, almost immediately, Gabriella chimed in. She said, "I know what that is mom. That's a skunk!"

I could hardly get any words out through my laughter, but I had to say, "Yup, I think you're right Gabs." Because that about wraps up my feelings on them too.