The Dogless Route

Fear is necessary to survival, but can just as often be irrational as rational. When I was younger I didn't mind dogs. My friend Freddy had a German Shepherd named Samantha that was his constant companion and protector. If we fought, even just playing around, she'd growl and intervene. Most of the time she was gentle though, and I liked her. I fondly remember my Uncle Jerry's Sheepdog Spunky, who mostly lay around his house like a mop and didn't mind me reclining on him. Another Aunt and Uncle had a Black Labrador named Kim that when I was 7 or 8 years old I tried to ride like a horse. She was old and arthritic, and definitely didn't appreciate that.

I'm not sure at what point the fear came in. The girl next door had these little ankle-biting yappy dogs that used to drive me mad, hopping and clawing at my legs. A neighbor up the road had a fancy french dog that had curly hair like a poodle but was a full-sized beast(My mom’s always had cats, so at this point I’ve all but exhausted my knowledge of dog breeds). He was usually gentle but one day he must have had a knot and while I was petting him, he turned and snapped at me. This was also around the age that I started formulating my foolish “everything happens to everyone sometime” theory. I postulated that, just like Chicken Pox, there were things that people inevitably had to experience as a part of growing up. Getting hit by a car was one inevitable fate I wasn't looking forward to; getting bit by a dog was another. It wasn't the brightest theory, but I was nine.

On my block growing up, most of my friends lived on my side of the street either right next door, or two doors down. At one point I had a friend who lived around the block. He was two years older and used to hide when he saw kids his age walking down the street, telling me he had to guard his “rep”. When my neighbors who were younger than me but whom I'd grown up with and known longer began hanging out with his younger brother, he eventually stopped being my friend since I was friends with his younger brother through this group. Visiting either brother was stressful however, since nearly every home between my house and theirs came with a dog. Most were tied up, but occasionally one would run loose while we were playing or riding bikes. During these times I was instructed to remain perfectly still by their owners, to let them smell me and see I wasn't afraid, because if they smelled fear, they'd get me. That is THE worst reverse psychological statement to say to a kid. “Relax! They're only barking because you seem afraid. Don't be afraid and they'll stop barking and leave you alone. Hold out your hand, let them lick it.” Yeah. That was going to happen.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Where I lived, I just had to walk or bike up one street, not even a five minute trip. I became accustomed to the jingle of a dog's collar as a warning sign. I used to stay in the middle of the road to be as far from yards on either side of the street as possible. Sometimes I would close my eyes. Other times the jangle of keys or change in my own pockets would make me jumpy. I had to carry the change in my hand until I got safely to my destination. Ultimately, I started going to their house by walking around the OTHER side of the block. Instead of one side of the square I was traveling three planes, and there was a steeper hill, but no one owned dogs on those streets and the few that did were better about keeping them chained up. There was just one house at the corner where my friends lived that had a fierce Doberman Pinscher named Sheera(not to be confused with She-Ra). Upon reaching the summit of either the direct route, or the steeper dogless route, I still had that one house to get past.

One day I was feeling more confident. I was in that arrogant zone of youthful immortality, as Social D puts it: ”When I was young, I was invincible.” I was pedaling my bike very fast on the dogless route, approaching the steep hill when Sheera tore around the corner, barking wildly. I cut a hard right to a side hill leading down to the main road. I didn't swear much as a kid but as this monster was nipping at my heels, literally biting chunks off my sneakers, I let the expletives fly. “You son of a b****! You F****** b****!!” Given a choice between traffic and being devoured, I blindly soared out across a four lane road and miraculously made it to the other side unscathed. My heart pounding, I watched her pace back and forth, waiting for me to cross again, her eyes saying, “You have to return home SOMEtime, chewtoy.”

Fear is necessary to survival, but can just as often be irrational as rational. Looking back, taking the dogless route wasn't all that much safer, and made about as much sense as some of the alternate longer routes I had taken to and from work these past few months, just to be near parking lots in case a dizzy spell came over me. It is better to be safe than sorry, but the mind can often overtake logic even after every logical avenue has been pursued and ruled out. I'm back to my normal commute and barely thinking about my problem these days; tonight it seemed like I was home as soon as I left work, my trip back to being a healthy blur at long last. In hindsight I can laugh now, and see how foolish those alternate routes were, how I was only prolonging the ordeal, in fact making an everyday routine INTO an ordeal. It's like a better man than I once sang, ”saw things so much clearer, once you were in my rearview mirror.