I said it.
And not anti-pet as in, “I hate touching my husband’s wee-wee,” but rather, I’m anti-pet as in, “I don’t like your dog licking my face, and I don’t like the cat hair all over my new black pants from sitting on your couch.”
I’m anti-pet. Or should I say anti-animal-companion to some of you? Because seriously, your pet doesn’t give a crap if I call it a “pet” or “animal companion.” The term “pet” is not derogatory to an animal who speaks “Ferret.” Some animal lovers are just taking it too far with their dog strollers and fancy new terms.
Go on ahead and hate me.
I’ve tried so hard to provide my children with various pets. They never work out. We’ve given away fours dogs and one cat. The hermit crab pulled all of it’s legs off and committed crab suicide within two days, and the goldfish died when my three year-old fed them Degree deodorant and batteries.
I know some people love their animals like they’re children, but I just can’t bring myself to it. Maybe it’s because I have allergies. Maybe it’s because I don’t like dog nose shoved in my crotch when I walk through a door. Or maybe it’s because I think animal slobber is disgusting. But something inside of me makes me not even want to lean down and pet Fido when I come over for a visit because I know my hand will stink afterward.
Actually, can you just send Fido outside when I come over so I don’t have to watch it clean its butt with its tongue and then lick the face of my baby? Thanks.
My sister-in-law recently spent all kinds of money to give her 13-year-old dog a blood transfusion. I watched her stress over the situation as she spent her savings trying to save her dog’s life. I wanted to be really sympathetic, but I just couldn’t. I advised her to just put the dog down. I mean, the dog had lived for 13 years. That’s like a million in dog years. Why spend all of that money just to watch your dog die of old age in a year?
I’m not evil, and I don’t eat cat brains for dinner. I’m just practical.
When you have a pet you can’t pack up your kids and go anywhere you want for a weekend. You have to find a pet sitter. When you have a pet you have to add to your list of living things that you’re suddenly responsible for. When you have a pet your house starts to stink like cat pee. I don’t want a stinky house, a bevy of pet sitters, or hermit suicides and fish homicides on my conscious. I struggle enough trying to keep my children alive and from peeing in the corner.
I’m pretty sure the only pet I’ll ever like is a pet rock.
Are you the same way? Or did I just infuriate you?