Dogs were my greatest comfort as I grew from the teenage years into adulthood.
I always thought I’d be a dog person, and that I knew a lot about them.
That was my attitude when I started writing this blog, but as I’ve matured and as I’ve seen more of “dog people,” I’ve come to a rather disturbing conclusion:
I’m really not a dog person.
At the worst, I detest the politics of dogs, but I also detest certain cultural memes that go along with them. The ideas that we have people who somehow communicate with them in one correct way or that getting absolute obedience out of a dog is somehow a sign of one’s connection with them are ones that I find most troubling.
The truth is that I’ll never be one of those people or will ever be someone who pretends to be.
I’ve come to terms with the simple fact that I admire good dogs like I admire art. I can witness their genius, but I’ll never paint anything that doesn’t look kindergarten scribbles.
It’s hard to come to terms with this reality, but it is also liberating in a way.
I don’t have to pretend to know what I don’t know. I don’t have to feign respect for rather odious institutions.
I’ve come to appreciate the wild dogs more. These are the creatures that are every bit as genius as the tame ones, and they breed and propagate outside all the fancy systems and clubs that we have contrived for our own amusement.
I actually don’t know how dog people maintain friendships. It’s pretty much a constant row over some bogus piece of esoterica, and I don’t know how anyone thrives in such a social milieu, much less why anyone would want to join it.
I know I’ve written a few of these pieces lately, but I think this will be the last one.
I’m closing the door, and it’s finished.
I’m tired, and there are more interesting things to write about.