MY WIFE WANTS to get a dog. My kids, also, want a dog. My inlaws, who used to own a dog, but then it died, also wish for us to get a dog (so they can dog-sit occasionally—this in marked contrast to their general stance on babysitting). My mum—a member of a website where you can borrow other people’s dogs for the day and look after them, for free, just because you like dogs so much—also, guess what, wants us to get a dog. It’s a Royal Flush.
So, I’m the dog-blocker. But it’s not that I don’t want a a dog. That’s clear, isn’t it? My family appear to be having some issues with this nuanced distinction, so let me spell it out for you: when I gaze into my future, and imagine myself doing all the doggy things—walkies, grooming, poop-scooping, chatting inanely to other dog owners about their dogs—I am unmoved. I don’t hate that version of my life; it just doesn’t excite me. It doesn’t feel like an . It doesn’t make me actively want a dog. I am not, however, a Hard No on dogs. I might, potentially, even enjoy owning a dog. I just can’t say, because I’ve never previously owned a dog. I’m not dogphobic; I’m just not a Dog Person. I’m only mildly dog-curious. Got it?
