I treat my dog better than I treat my sister

I was reflecting the other day, right before I fell aleep. The strangest and most random things tend to cross my mind when I'm on the verge of sleep. And suddenly, when I was least expecting it, the title of this blog ran through my head and I almost sat upright in shock. I began to think about it, and it was so interesting, I got up and brainstormed a little on my laptop, then finally went back to sleep. Here are some of the things I figured out.

Today's society is very in tune to animals. There are numerous societies, groups, and charities dedicated to their welfare. Any case of animal cruelty or organized fighting is bound to make front-page news, drawing the sympathies of animal lovers everywhere. Movies about animals, along with books, tend to sell well. (Example: Marley and Me.) What is it about animals that make them so appealing? Is it unwavering loyalty, or their adorableness? Is it their dependence on their humans, or their silly antics that draw our laughter?

To be honest, there isn't much that is very appealing about my dog, Emery. She's a mutt, albeait an adorable one. Her appearance is about all that she has going for her, besides her hyperactiveness and *ahem* "silly antics". She's an outdoor dog, and she lives in a muddy part of our yard that my father insisted upon, since there was no grass for her to dig up and ruin. She tends to be filthy-pawed and smelly-furred. She never was trained very well, because I wasn't there to do it since I was in school. She was so small when my boyfriend got her for me, I was afraid to leave her outside at night for fear that she'd either freeze or get attacked by some wild critter.

So, I ingeniously fashioned an area for her in my room, or so I thought. My room is shaped like a rectangle with a smaller rectangle attached that leads to a window, kind of like an alcove. It's about 10 feet deep and a few feet wide, so I figured it would be a perfect place for her to stay when I was at school or asleep. I put up a children's gate to keep her in there, along with placing newspapers, hoping she would catch on and only do her business there. No such luck. Would you believe it that a puppy that was shorter than my foot and weighed less than 5 pounds managed to knock over that gate and run rampant around my room? My carpet never recovered! To this day, if I put on the black light, stains show up all over my room where she emptied her bladder. (Don't worry, I steam cleaned it after she moved out.) She was badly behaved as a puppy. She bit indiscriminantly, and would beg for food at the table. She barked at air in the wee hours of the morning, and would cry constantly if I locked her in her little caged area at night. I finally gave up out of sheer exhaustion and took to letting her run loose at night in my room, because at least she wouldn't cry and break my heart. Of course, this did not help the carpet situation.

This is such a big contrast to how my sister's early years were. My mom was a "tough love" mother, and once my sister was a certain age, if she woke up before Mom went to bed and cried, Mom ignored her. At the time, it just about killed me to listen to those heart-wrenching cries, but in the end, it worked. My sister would eventually stop and fall back asleep, and peace would reign supreme. Knocking over her baby gate on purpose to escape was a punishable offense as well. Once my sister was old enough to know that biting was wrong, if she happened to do it, she was in for it. My mom would paddle her and you can bet that she didn't do it too often after that. If she had gone to the bathroom on the floor once she knew better, she would have gotten paddled for that, too. (And don't anyone go off because my mom was a corporal punisher - I was paddled too and I'm not scarred.)

Now that my sister is almost 8, I have almost no patience for her shenanigans. My mom lost her tough love, unfortunately, and coddles my sister entirely too much. It drives me insane when she goes around the house singing at the top of her lungs or just being loud for no reason, and usually I yell at her. However, my dog can howl at animals outside and there's little chance that I'll go and yell for her to shut up, mostly because she doesn't listen. I think that's a big part of why we love animals so much - it's impossible to stay mad at them for something when they dont know better or won't understand what they're being punished for.

My dog has always had two fears, and both of them are thanks to me, unfortunately. When she was still very tiny, I took her in the shower once with me to get her cleaned off. She was a little worried, but ok, until I made the mistake of stepping out for a moment to go grab something I'd left on the counter. She flipped out. She started howling and trying to jump out, but she was too small. I went back in to comfort her, but it was beyond repair. She cowered in the corner, as far away from the water as possible, and would kick and cry if I tried to put her under the spray. She is still scared of running water to this day, which makes for a lot of trouble at bathing time. She is also scared of the hairdryer. I used it once while she was in the room and the noise scared her, and after a while, I realized I finally had an advantage over her bad behavior. If she was in one of her biting moods and wouldn't stop, I would go and get the hairdryer. Just the sight of it was enough to send her under the bed and come out moments later, begging for forgiveness. Don't judge me; you'd do it too. :-)

I've never had much reverence for my sister's fears. She doesn't have many now, but a few years ago, she was scared of earthworms. Being the typical mean older sister, I would tease her about it and sometimes pick them up and threaten to throw them on her. It was hilarious because she would freak out and run inside, even though I never actually touched her with one.

Now that my sister is older, I also don't have patience for her helplessness that she tries to get away with. I don't think my mom has ever enjoyed a family meal without having to cut or butter something on my sister's plate. It irritates the crap out of me because I know she is old enough to do a lot of these things herself. Any other time, she's overly independent. She knows how to cook simple foods on the stove and she can use the microwave, so she sure as heck can butter her own corn! She is old enough to shower by herself, so I have no idea why she often insists on taking baths and then making my mom wash her hair for her. It's laziness, that's all it is.

My dog on the other hand, is a handful to bathe. During the warm months, it's not so bad because it can be done outside. She tries to run from the water, so I use her chain to attach her to the porch with only a foot or two of slack so she can't run away. She still struggles a lot unless I let her rub up against my legs while I'm hosing her off; I guess it comforts her to have me within touching distance. I decided to do a majr undertaking last month. She had not been bathed since Auguest, since I'd been away at college, and she was way overdue. She was so pathetic when I would go outside, begging for me to pet her, but just a stroke or two would be enough to make my hand smell disgusting. I figured that I could somehow chain her in the shower and close the curtain while I washed her, saving my bathroom from her shaking. It was easier said than done. I knew her claws hadn't been clipped in too long, either, and since I knew she would be struggling, I put on sweatpants to save my legs from her scratching me. I put her into my room to wait while I rigged up her chain, then came back to find a fresh pile of dog crap right in one of the spots she used to frequent. She looked up at me innocently, and I half grinned because she would get her comeuppance in just a few moments.

So, there I am, standing fully clothed in the shower, with Emery cowering between my knees. She knew this place - and she remembered what had happened the last time. I turned on the water and she backed up as far as she could. I started out by using a pitcher and simply pouring it on her, to reassure her. I softly crooned to her, saying nonsense and trying to calm her fears. She was so filthy, I knew that pouring wasn't going to be enough. I threw caution to the wind and turned on the shower. She promptly dug her claws into the shower curtain and tried to scramble out through it. I dropped to my knees and held her collar, immobilizing her and making her stand under the spray. She was shaking from fear, but I started singing to her and gradually her tenseness started to disappear. I slowly started sudsing her up and scrubbing it into her fur, then brushed it through with her comb. Handfuls of shedded fur came out and tried to clog the drain, stopping up the brown water running off of her. Ick. I will never underestimate dog groomers again, nor will I ever foist Emery off on one until she gets over her fear of water. When I finally finished washing her and rinsed her off, I was sweating and soaking wet, but at least she didn't smell anymore. My legs hurt because sometimes when she would struggle, I clamped my knees together around her so she couldn't move. My back hurt because I had been bending over the entire time. I opened up the shower curtain, and of course, the first thing she did was shake. I let her off the chain and she scrambled out of the tub like a freed prisoner seeking fresh air. She slipped around the bathroom until I tackled her in a towl and got her partially dry. I looked around in dismay at my once clean bathroom. There were small puddles all over, black hair on the walls, and water droplets running down my mirrors.

I sighed in resignation, unlocked the bathroom door and went to let her out. My sister had been mad at me because I didn't let her help, and was eavesdropping outside the bathroom door. Emery jumped out with such vigor that she bowled my sister over, then scrambled down the stairs. My sister looked up at me, slightly shellshocked.

That'll teach her.