Thoughts on Not Getting a Dog

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
March 29, 1964


   THERE HASN'T been a dog in the family for 15 years, but we aren't dog haters. My older son has two Scotties and my daughter has a Poodle. The son and daughter now have homes of their own, which is just as well under the circumstances.
   We had a dog for many years, however, and I'd not say unequivocally that I'd never have another. I'm just not the right age for a dog. A young man and and a pooch go well together, and a dog brings comfort and companionship to an oldster. I like to think that several years remain before I'll have to lean on Old Shep in order to get down the street.
   When I advance that far into the shadows I hope I'll be summoned home. The trouble is, I won't be. It will be just my luck to live 20 years longer than I should and have my heirs see the fortune dissipated on nursing-home care.

   ANYWAY, if and when I get old and live in a lonely room, then is when I'll want a dog. Then is when I'll need a friend and it will have to be Old Shep. Until then, though, I hope the fates permit me to be canine-free.
   I was afraid the other day, though, that I'd have a dog in spite of myself. In remembrance of my birthday, this son who has the two Scotties invited us to his place for dinner. His Scotties are mother and son. There was a litter of six and five had been sold.
   "This is a trap," I told my wife. "They're inviting us there for dinner to give me that pup for a birthday present. What'll I do?"
   "Why not accept it? It's old enough by now to be housebroken. It's a registered dog worth at least $100."
   "Not to me it isn't. To me it isn't worth at least two bits."

   "BUT DON'T you know it's stylish to have a dog? One of the reasons we don't circulate in high society is because we're dogless."
   "Well, we had a dog for 13 years and never got within sight of the country club."
   " I know, but that was before dogs were really in. Today the poor have children and the rich have dogs. I was reading in a magazine about dogs having mink sweaters and sable coats, professional dog-walkers and $1,000 funerals. Do you know how much is spent every year for dog and cat food?"
   "Not counting table scraps, you mean?"
   "Definitely not counting table scraps. Only mutts eat table scraps. What is spent annually for dog and cat food totals $550 million, and that is a lot of hamburger--only it isn't hamburger. Hamburger is for the likes of us. It's gourmet stuff."
   "Well," I said, as we pulled up to our son's home, "no dog of mine will get gourmet stuff, mainly because I won't have a dog--I hope. Keep your fingers crossed."

   I IGNORED the two Scotties and concentrated on the grandsons. After we'd eaten a bountiful meal and the birthday cake was brought in, I got my present--a book. Only then did I feel free to mention the subject that had bothered me.
   "You haven't been able to sell the pup, eh?"
   My son looked at me in surprise. "Why, sure! We could have sold him three or four times. Why?"
   "Then why on earth don't you?"
   He grinned at his wife. "She wants to keep him. She thinks he's cute."
   So I'd never even been considered for the dog. For some unaccountable reason, it was quite a let-down.


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