I get stared at when I walk Beesly.  Every time I walk Beesly.  Most of the time I try to respect the different cultural views about dogs and be as understanding as I can that some people are going to dislike my dog.  Some people are going to fear my dog.  And some people are going to be disgusted by my dog.

Simon told me that he was walking Beesly the other day and when he walked out the door, a 6-ish year old boy pressed himself against the wall of the building and screamed “DOGGGG!!!!!!!!”.  Simon said “Really?!?!?” to the boy, and kept on walking.

One of the most common situations I face when I walk my dog around my neighborhood is hearing people excitedly point out to their friends and children that there is a DOG!  I would compare this to how people in Florida would point out to their friends and children that there is an ARMADILLO! near by.

Like, it’s an animal they know exists, but they don’t see often… And it’s definitely not something they’d want to “be near” and definitely not something they’d like to TOUCH.

For argument’s sake I’d say that Beesly is a bit cuter than an armadillo, but this is the best example I can think of right now.

Sometimes when people seem especially interested in my dog, I ask if they’d like to pet her.  I explain that she’s nice and they nervously approach.  I pet Beesly on the head to prove that she won’t bite my hand off.  For a moment they reach forward to touch my dog, only to chicken out and nervously laugh as they back away.  These exchanges don’t bother me because there are worse things that happen.

Once a man on a bicycle intentionally swerved his bike towards Beesly, nearly hitting her, and then rode off laughing that he had scared her.  Sometimes small children will run up and poke her with things or make loud noises near her to startle her.

These are the sorts of things that… how should I word this… evoke thoughts of violence.  Namely of the choking or swiftly-kicking-in-the-throat variety.

Again, though, I get over those things.

Today I went out to walk Beesly and there were two boys playing outside.  They were probably around 8 years old.  One of the boys immediately excitedly ran over to me and was very interested in Beesly.  I told him that he could pet her but he needed to be gentle.  I explained that she would’t hurt him but he needed to be careful not to scare her.  I pet Beesly for reassurance (both for her and the boy).

“She’s not mean?  Won’t bite??” he asked.  ”No.” I said.

As he put the back of his hand towards Beesly’s nose as I had demonstrated, the other little boy ran up to us and chastised his friend for what he was about to do.  The first boy kept moving his hand closer to Beesly, ignoring his friend.  He was determined to pet A Dog, in a way that suggested it’d be something he’d brag to his friends about later.

I know it’s very, very optimistic of me (and probably very naïve of me) to think these small exchanges might better encourage cross-cultural understanding and general free thought (yeah, now that I’ve typed it out, it sounds ridiculous), but I feel that in some minuscule way I’m doing my very small part to discourage the abuse that Beesly clearly went through before we adopted her.  I want for people to see dogs as intelligent creatures that will unconditionally love you, and not as animals that deserve to be mistreated or harmed.

I know cultural differences mean that not everyone will look at a dog the way that I, with my cultural upbringing, will look at a dog.  I know that.  That said, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for people to treat animals, especially my dog WHILE I’M WALKING HER, with enough respect to not intentionally scare or hurt her for their own entertainment.

Just as the first boy was about to finally pat Beesly on the head, his friend exclaimed “NO!  We won’t have enough time to wash our hands before finishing our game!”

That was a good enough reason for the first boy to run off, back to his soccer game.  

For whatever reason, that comment really hurt my feelings.  It was as though I thought Beesly understood what happened and would now feel self-conscious that she was too dirty to be touched.

I don’t know what my real point is here.  I guess it’s just that I, a person that knows what it feels like to be loved by a dog, really appreciate that I know what that feels like.

One day Beesly will be an American and I can’t wait to take her everywhere and for strangers to approach her and say “Hiiiiiiii Honey!!!!!”

(In case I have failed to express the love I feel for my dog, this video of Jimmy Stewart reading a poem about his dog Beau should sum it right up.  Cheers to the dogs we have loved.)

(Oh, and at the risk of being inappropriate and over-sharing, I’d like to note that my hurt feelings could be the result of Super Period (SP), which is what I call the hormonal psychotic-ness that ensues when you take two packs of birth control pills back to back because you don’t want to have to deal with “women’s troubles” on vacation.)