I'm going to go ahead and make a bold statement. If you say that you don't like puppies, I will fight you. Maybe not to the death, and more than likely, I'll lose, but I'll get in a few weak, limp-wristed hits before I curl up in a fetal position and play dead until you go away.

Possibly with this exact face. I am not a fearsome fighter. OR IS THAT EXACTLY WHAT I WANT YOU TO THINK?

Somehow this topic managed to stick. I love dogs. Well, love might not seem to be the right word. I really do like dogs. I've been accused at several points of that not being the case, and I'ma defend myself on these two cases.

1.) Big Dogs that Strike Me As Crazy

Let's talk about Hawk.

Hawk was my grandfather's German shepherd. My grandfather was a pretty cool guy in a lot of ways, not the least of which was his perpetual collection of dogs, several of which had been German shepherds. His dogs were almost always pretty cool, and I got along fairly well with them. My family (really, my sister and my mom) had a beagle at home that was about as cute and as dumb as dogs get. Seriously. This dog was so adorable, but she just wasn't that bright. I'm sure there are great stories out there to elaborate on this point (like when she did a backflip off a tree while trying to chase a squirrel), but this isn't about how amazing my dog was.

Seriously, though. This dog was pretty great.

I met Hawk when I was about 10 years old. Ten years old, and probably about, oh, 90 pounds? I was a skinny kid, and this dog had teeth. This dog also had a hefty dose of something with which I am only moderately endowed- crazy. I have a rather vidi memory of one day in particular. See, I was going to go hang out with my grandfather for a bit, and I step out onto the stairway, and there's Hawk. He's looking at me. I take a step.

Hawk barks. Now, let me clarify. This (to me) was not a, "Hey, you're not usually here. What's going on?" Kind of bark. No. This was a, "What the fuck are you doing in my house? Take another step, and I will end you. I will end you, those you love, those who owe you money, and all those that they love. Go ahead. Take that fucking step, you motherfucker."

Author's interpretation

Needless to say, I did not take that step. There was apparently some fallout from this between my parents and my grandfather, but, to his credit, Hawk didn't do anything to physically hurt me. He did, however, proceed to prove his utter nutbonkerness by biting a friend of the family, and that shit don't fly.

So, with big dogs, I'm a bit wary to begin with, because they can still probably kick my ass and rip me to shreds. Besides, do you REALLY want to start rassling or roughhousing with an animal that's as big as you but with much larger jaws? That seems like a poor choice. Apparently, this comes off as me not liking dogs, though, so whatever.

2.) Small dogs

This really only applies to REALLY tiny dogs, and even then, similar bone structure can make it apply to larger dogs as well. The reasoning here is pretty simple.

I feel like I'm going to break them.

No, seriously. People try to hand me small dogs (or cats) and expect me to be able to carry them. "Oh, it's just like carrying a baby," they say.

Do I look like I have a baby? Do I look like I've ever held a baby? I'm the youngest one in my immediate family, and the gap between me and the next closest relative (i.e., the oldest one in the next generation) in my extended family is about 10 years younger than I. I have no instinctual bearing on how to hold a baby, and my attempts at using instinct to hold small animals has left them looking exceptionally uncomfortable.

Not shown: Rob trying to hold a cat. It is begging for some sort of release.

So, please. When I don't rush to play with your small animal, don't assume that I hate it. I just don't want to be its next meal, and I have no idea what to do with a baby. It's the way of the world, and you can deal with it for a bit.