I am deathly afraid of dogs and they sense my fear.
Yesterday I picked up a friend for a wedding. On our return, she invited me inside to see her new dining room set. I hesitated because she has two dogs.
Both dogs attend obedience training with their owners.
My friend said, “You stand perfectly still here in the living room and I’ll open the girls’ gate.” She added, “They will not jump on you.”
A dog jumping on me--next to the dreaded dog bite -- is a big fear.
When I told my husband this story later he said, “Okay, Charlie Brown, I’ll hold the football….”
Was I duped by my friend? Or is that dogs cannot resist fear?
I stood completely still. That lasted about 10 seconds until terror filled me as the dogs ran directly to me. Paws clicked on the tile floor, coming at me. I switched from not breathing to the Lamaze method, hoping to retain some oxygen in my lungs so I did not pass out.
My friend re-assured me, “They’ll be fine.”
She lied.
One immediately jumped on me, and the other went for the famous needle nose in the crotch maneuver.
Did I mention I am afraid of dogs?
The truly odd aspect of my unreasonable fear is that my brother and I had dogs when we were children. My mother raised cocker spaniels when she was a child, and adored dogs of all kind, shape and size.
Mom could spot a growling, rabid, ragged, moth-eaten, frothy-jawed, drooling canine beast along a deserted road, and would say, "That's a nice doggie."
Grrrrr. Quoth the raven.
