by Joyce Menyasz

Created on: May 01, 2008

I Love My Pets Most When They Aren't Trying to Kill Me

Last night I was giving our chocolate lab, Chip, a good rub-down after his jaunt in the rain. Chip has the type of personality that the more attention you give him, the more excitable he is.

Add a towel and lots of words of "who's a wet doggie? Oh, you like this, don't you? Oh, good boy, good boy!" and see what you come up with. Me? I came up with a head butt from the dog and a bloody lip for my trouble.

And that's when it hit me. How many times have I stumbled, tripped, been bruised or actually bled because of our furry family members?

First, I remember when Wick was a kitten. Kittens are their own ball of energy, but when you take that little ball of fur and add stairs and a grown woman with a hot cup of coffee, it's a recipe for disaster. Yes, the stain came out of the carpet and there is no visible scar on my knee.

And then there was the introduce-the-kitten-to-the-65-pound-dog-that's-had- the-run-of-the-house-for-three-years. The first time wasn't so great. It took me an hour to clean up all the dirt from the broken potted plant, but only a few bandages to cover the fresh kitten scratches I'd received as a gift for my introduction efforts. Oh, and we replaced all screens with pet-proof strength mesh. It's really amazing how strong a dog's paw is.

Of course, that was two years ago, and now that I think about it, I can come up with at least once a week where I've cursed my furry beloveds because they have dashed under my feet, between my legs, up my shoulder or tagged my knees with cat or dog scratches after some well-meant lovin'.

Which brings me to my point. Are they trying to kill me?

Why does our cat insist on attacking my legs as I walk toward the stairs? Even though I can hear her coming, I never know where or when she's going to attack. But one thing is certain. . . it's coming, and it's going to hurt me.

My husband Peter just laughs. It's because he doesn't get to experience the total pet devotion that I have from our animals. But then again, maybe they actually like Peter better, which is why they are constantly trying to maim me.

Chip's leash has a 30 foot lead on it. We've found that it's the happy medium between the ultra short leash that lets him go nowhere, or no leash at all, which means we can't find the dog until the neighbour calls and says he's harassing a 70-year-old woman. 30 feet of freedom it is.

But when that dog takes his lead and runs it as fast and as hard as he can, even though I brace myself, I am sure my arm will be ripped right from my body when he hits the end of his lead. Add an icy driveway to that picture and Chip could get paid a handsome sum for my demise.

I guess I don't really think our pets are trying to kill me. But if they aren't, why is Chip standing behind me with a toothy grin and an evil glint in his eye?

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