A confession...

...I'm not much of a dog person. There are a few exceptions to this general rule (Sophie Anzur and Wendy when she's not puking or barking) but if you own a dog, and you asked me what I thought of said dog, and I was feeling scandalous, I would probably admit that I'm not a fan. Please don't take it personally. Dogs are just to eager and too smelly. I prefer the standoffish, near hatred that cats offer.

I bring this up because it seems as though about half of the residents in our apartment complex own at least one dog. I always catch them gathering, discussing the merits of treats vs. punishment, snausage vs. puppy chow, and other such doggie things, and I try to shirk away quietly. Their dogs can always sense me passing, and seem to see it as an opportunity to convert me from my cat-loving ways. They bound up to me, drooling all the way, and then I am forced to reach down and pet them. Why, you might ask? Because I have this strange idea that any one else would do the same thing. I can't openly scorn a stranger's pet, unless it is actively attacking me. It would be in poor taste.

Imagine my disappointment when I opened the elevator door recently to find an eager dog owner and her even more eager companion. I was trapped. I had to reach down with my hand outstretched. I let her dog show me adoration for what I felt was an appropriate amount of time. Her dog licked my arm up to my elbow, despite me sending it body language signals to stop while it was still ahead. What did the woman say to me next?

"Be careful. He's been eating his poop today."

That would have been helpful information FIVE MINUTES AGO. Who the heck do you think you are? Do you think I like having poopy slobber hands? NO. I was upset.

And this is was yet another reason for me to silently scorn dog owners. Who would let a dog lick a stranger before telling said innocent stranger that the dog had a dirty secret?