What animals make the best/worst pets?

Recently, an expecting couple asked me what they should do about the dog once their baby was born… Loyal reader, I’m rarely without words but I was, temporarily, at a loss!

The only thing I could think of  was: if you have to ask, then get rid of the dog! Kudos to me, I didn’t say that! I merely advised them never to leave their dog baby unsupervised with their newborn human.

The thing is, I’m not a dog person. Look, I completely respect other people’s unwavering, unadulterated, undying love for their canine but it’s not for me. I get that these descendents of wolves  are loyal and intelligent, a furry ball of cuteness, a bundle of fun… but I can’t seem to get past the wet/old dog smell, the excrement, the neediness, the constant shedding of fur, not to mention the cost!

Growing up French meant that my parents had a cast iron excuse for denying us a pet. What, they argued, would we do with such a domestic animal each and every time we go back to France.  Now I suspect they could have found ways around this so-called unsurmountable problem had they been minded to. They weren’t.  I don’t blame them. I have never wanted to share a dwelling with a domesticated mini tiger (although I do, I’ll tell you all about that later), a tamed wolf, or any kind of rodent.

Middle Child was desperate for a pet, any pet (but mostly a dog), when he was around seven. He swore blind that he would assume full responsibility for such a creature and he absolutely meant it. He couldn’t understand my skepticism when I outlined my fears that his promises might not be as binding as he believed them to be; that I would by default become responsible for yet another utterly dependent being; that truly, come winter, neither he or I would want to be engaging in a daily trudge around the park on top of our other commitments. Since he was incapable of imagining such neglect of duty, the argument wasn’t terribly effective. But luckily, I was still able to use my get-out-of-gaol card: being French.

Two of my siblings who, growing up, were like Middle Child (convinced that they would have been trustworthy dog owners from a tender age given the chance) now have dogs. Despite being French! Well. Loyalty, cuteness and intelligence notwithstanding, this has done nothing to alleviate my misgivings. Here’s why…

Dogs are no olfactory treat at best. To add insult to injury, they will sniff out and throw themselves into any nearby body of water (the dirtier the better), from which they emerge smelling even worse than the swamp they just wallowed in. It’s quite a feat.

Look, I’ve been a nurse and a midwife  for more than three fifths my life. I can deal with human excrement. I don’t like it, but dealing with bowel incontinence does come with the job and when it happens, it’s all about the fuss-free clean-up. It only gets a tiny bit easier with practice though. Repeated exposure to infant and toddler nappies due to motherhood hasn’t blessed me with a stronger stomach either,  merely a strong drive to potty train as early as possible (and it’s never early enough!)  The prospect of paying cold hard cash to live with a creature who will never know how to use a toilet, who’s digestive remains I will be expected to pick up on a daily basis is baffling to me.

Ok, so your dog loves you. That’s a fact that even I wouldn’t try to refute. But the neediness is a burden. Because it seems they can never exist without you. They may be smart animals but no-one seems to trust them with a dog-flap which means you have to be alert to their bladder and bowel content and capacity at all times. They may be smart creatures but they can’t be trusted to walk themselves. You have to physically restrain your canine in any built up area in case it randomly decides to chase a squirrel across a busy road.  They may be smart and loyal  but what earthly use is that if they will eat everything that is inadvertently left in their reach? Including chocolate, although to be fair, how can something so delicious be so deadly, that’s a pretty lousy evolutionary joke. My brother’s dog once ate 2 kilos of sand presumably because it smelled a bit fishy. He still managed to die peacefully of old age (may he rest in peace) after recovering nicely from the eye wateringly expensive surgery that such a meal entails. I realise that a dog’s loyalty is a sign that they know who is feeding them, and that they are properly grateful. And that’s actually one of the most endearing things about them. You don’t get that from any other pet, as far as I’m aware. You don’t always get that from your own offspring either… and it’s nice to be appreciated.  But at what cost? The mind boggles at the cost of good doggy-day-care, pet insurance, gluten- free-organic-free-range pet food, holiday-doggy-boarding, regular not-covered-by-insurance medical bills…  Obviously if we take on responsibility for a fellow creature, we owe them a good life. And it’s a credit to our society that we take this responsibility seriously. Which is why we should be proud of our high animal welfare standards even if it does push up the price of pets (and meat, which we know we ought to be eating less of anyway).

I’m still not buying it. The pet dog, that is. Especially the fancy breeds that cost thousands but don’t do anything to enhance the dogs’ health or well-being. I mean sausage dogs? What is that about? Are we going to breed out legs?  Handbag dogs? Are you kidding me? Fighter dogs? Just no. Although, not gonna lie, labradoodles I can sort of see the point of. Simply because they don’t shed hair. Look, hoovers are a fantastic invention but a chore is still a chore. No-one in my house volunteers for any chores, ever. Extra hoovering would not work for me.

So, ummm,  no, I’m not a dog person.

Technically I’m not a cat person either. Somehow, to Middle Child’s delight and my bewilderment, I did end up being the responsible adult for such a creature. She and her sister feline arrived from France with my last Au Pair (remember the good old pre-brexit days when you could get a French au pair?) Both were supposed to leave with said Au Pair. Ours stayed. I think it was destiny. Midwives/wise women (a sage femme is a midwife in French) have long been associated with cats, black cats in particular (maybe only Granny Weatherwax in Terry Pratchett’s legendary Discworld novels but that counts!) this black beauty appeared as if by magic and stayed on as if it were the most natural thing in the world!

My cat has a human name (Déesse, she’s French, it means Goddess, she really ought to like it!) which she, like all felines, disdains. She shows no loyalty or gratitude. She will tolerate a cuddle on her own terms. She’s capable of incessant (loud and desperately piteous) meowing which makes her as irritating to us (and the neighbours) as a barking dog. Especially when she does it outside. At night. No clue why. She brings in live mice. She barfs up some pretty deeesgusting hair balls. But. She does not need us. I mean sure, she accepts our offerings of sustenance, only because it’s her feline right to be worshipped with gifts of food. She came to us fully toilet trained and she has a special super power: she can be left with a quantity of dry food and make it last several days. From a catsitting point of view, this is a game changer. Oh, and she’s kinda cute. Most importantly, she’s the trusted guardian of Only Daughter’s secrets, she listens without judging, she’s the best therapist ever! Despite all this, she is not allowed in my room. She’s not dirty, she doesn’t smell, but she’s an outdoor cat who hunts mice so no, she’s not welcome where I sleep. Naturally she is not respectful of rules but she will usually alert me to her trespassing intentions (if my door has been inadvertently left open by a trespassing offspring) by meowing loudly and entering cautiously. Can’t blame her for trying!

The thing about mini tigers and latter-day wolves is that they tend to bring out the best in one’s fledgling humans. It really brings out their instinct to protect small vulnerable beings – always a good thing. Perhaps (cute, short-tailed) rodents do too but I’m not minded to find out. It’s not even because of our cat: it turns out her hunting instincts are far from lethal, and she regularly brings us small live (wild, long-tailed) rodents. She’d probably be great friends with a hamster too! It’s just that I’m not a mouse person. Or at least not voluntarily.

On balance though, my trainee humans are the most demanding, least cost-effective, chronically undomesticated, only superficially tame creatures that I will forever be responsible for. But they’re kinda cute!