Why am I in the doghouse??

Besides possessing a variety of Good Conduct certificates from my school, colleges and various employers, I have always been acknowledged as a person of generally acceptable character and personality traits. However, over the last few years, I’m observing a growing tendency in my social circles to suspect me of deep and dark character flaws. And the root cause of their warped worldview stems from just one single aspect of my multi-dimensional nature – that I am not a dog person!

You see, I suffer from Cynophobia. Fear of dogs. I don’t know why and where this came from. Maybe a flawed childhood. Probably a traumatic incident early in my life which I have mentally blocked and cannot even recall unless I go through hypnosis. Whatever the reason, it’s there and it’s very real. 

 

Funnily enough, I do seem to be part of a shrinking minority. Every time I’m in a group with a dog in the vicinity, most people can’t wait to break the touch barrier and start scratching the canine’s ears while allowing it to violate all rules of civilized deportment with its tongue. This normally segues into an extensive conversation about dog care which automatically eliminates me from any meaningful contribution, sprouting all kinds of inadequacies in me. Invariably, sensing my exclusion, someone will offer to donate one of their puppies to me with an evangelical fervour, at which point I would have to come out of the closet and reveal that I am not really a dog person.

 

It’s patently unfair. Usually, the reaction to phobias is very neutral. You could even say understanding. Claustrophobia, Acrophobia and other such phenomena don’t offend. In fact, one is pitied if affected. Cynophobia however, appears to impact the dog owner viscerally. I have seen people who can stomach a joke about their kids, but not their dogs. That red line you cannot ever cross! So, when I studiously ignore the pride of the home, the host completely misreads my uneasiness as a general dislike of the subject. Usually a liberal dose of cold shouldering results, making a long evening longer…

 

Let’s face it. Popular belief seems to be that not being a dog lover is a signal of a deeply flawed, sociopathic mind! Dog owners seem irrationally stuck to the position that a non-dog person is someone you would want to keep away from the kitchen knives.

 

In the golden days of the past, there was some empathy for people like me. Dog owners will considerately put up a sign saying “Beware of Dogs” or something equivalent that enables you to steel yourself as you enter the hazardous zone. Such a decent thing to do. It gives you ample time to plan your strategy, whether you want to abort the visit, steel yourself adequately prior to entering Jurassic Park, or adopt some other course. In my case, I usually repeat to myself, about 10 times, the words “dog is man’s best friend” and that usually gets me to the threshold of, albeit with a trembling finger, ringing the bell. In recent times however, the dominant view seems to be that there is nothing to beware of. Would you put up a sign saying “Beware of kids?” is the popular, but to my Cynophobic mind flawed, refrain. Clearly, dog owners have graduated from defensiveness to pugnacity, thereby adding an element of unpredictability to an already complicated mix …

 

This is not restricted to the close social circle. Complete strangers are equally quick to take umbrage. Many a time have I found myself getting into a lift and getting ambushed by some random person taking the dog out for a stroll. As I back into a corner and try to put the maximum distance between myself and the four legged friend, I can feel the stranger’s eyebrows rising in hurt surprise followed by a reassurance that the noble animal doesn’t bite. Whether the creature in question is in sync with this sentiment is very moot. Soon the reassurances morph into a haughty and cold silence as my lack of trust in one of God’s creations is publicly exposed. There has even been an instance when a lady had to comfort her dog which was possibly feeling hurt by my rudeness. I think I caught the words “Ignore him, Caesar…”. Really? I concede that poor Caesar may have been left anguished by the episode but what price my palpitations? 

 

There is some economic good out of all this, though, with the evolution of the pet ecosystem. Other than the usual pet foods, pet accessories, vets, pet homes and stuff, there is a new breed of specialists. Pet Psychics. These are allegedly clairvoyant human beings that can glean what goes on in the mind of your pet; they apparently hold a remote mental conversation with your pet and let you know what your pet has on its mind. Everything from its diet to its sexual orientation can be figured out, I’m told. 

 

Which brings me to another point. I am not supposed to use the word “it” when alluding to a dog. People take offense. I’m supposed to say “He” or “She” as the case may be. And this, I don’t get. Pet owners are predominantly the liberated and enlightened kind who should know that the gender binary is causing great distress in the case of humans; why should dogs be any different? How can we classify them as He or She without their consent. At least consult the Psychic before pigeon holing the gender, I feel like telling these people…

 

Making things murkier is a nomenclature issue – apparently “dog owner” is perceived as not the best way to refer to, well, the owner of a dog. See, we are all God’s creations and no one being can own another being. That stuff was abolished in the 19^th century. So, I believe these people who have dogs in their homes prefer to be called “Human Carer” or in some extreme cases, Parent. Which, if I were a dog, I would resent as the former seems very close to Patient Caretaker, conveying that I need intense monitoring of some sort; which is rich considering I’m the one guarding the house, its inmates and its treasures; while the latter disturbingly reopens some settled axioms of Biology.

 

I gaze into the crystal ball and can’t help feeling that the future looks bleak. India’s dog population is said to be around 85 million, but the kicker is the growth rate of 11% per annum! That’s more than 5 times the human population growth rate. Clearly, data indicates that there will more dogs in my life with each passing day. 

 

It's a rather hopeless situation. Clearly, my non-dog personness is beyond repair. Despite binge watching Youtube videos like “Get over your fear of dogs in 11 simple steps” and “Beat Cynophobia – Parts 1 & 2” and so on, I make no headway. Every time I come to terms with being a “Good person, unfortunately just not a dog person”, there is some chance encounter with some proud Human Carer and associated caree that leaves me bruised and battered all over again. 

 

I must confess that the constant disdain I’ve had to face has left some permanent scars on my psyche and actually led me to question my own character. Am I really as flawed as I’m made out to be? Is my inability to love the dogs around me an indicator of some sociopathic streak that had escaped detection all these years? At times I even toy with the idea of conforming and taking on a dog and become its Human Carer. Luckily, thus far, those weak moments have passed before I could act on the impulse but I fear someday I will reach the tipping point. My only check and balance is my wife, who as non-dog persons go is far more “non” than even I. Hopefully she will ensure I don’t succumb. 

 

Which reminds me of the silver lining in all this. Marital compatibility. They say common interests unite spouses, which is kind of true. But I hold that common phobias unite even more effectively. Whatever differences my wife and I have, the mere sight of a dog in the vicinity is all it takes for a grand reconciliation. 

 

Phew! Imagine my life if I’d gotten married to a dog lover!!

 

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