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My two-year-old is terrified of dogs. Ter-ri-fied.
I feel horrible about this. I love dogs. My husband love dogs. We love dogs. Nonetheless, I feel responsible for her fear.
Now, I have a dog. He is a cranky, crotchety, old wiener dog. He has stinky breath, a white face, and a bionic back. When he was three he developed a disc disease. So, ten years ago, UC Davis vet hospital removed most of his discs and, after two surgeries, $5,000 from my very lean I-just-started-working-for-real-like-a-grown-up bank account.
He was never the same. He became crabby and mean. Wiener dogs aren’t like real dogs, anyway. They don’t capitulate. They don’t seek to please. They aren’t dopey, unconditional love dogs. No, they are more like cats. They primarily bond to one person. This meant my husband was out of luck. Instead of tail wagging greetings at the end of the day, my husband was rewarded with what became known in our house as “sh*ts of defiance”....
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