I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas....

I thought it might be a dry, sunny Christmas this year (yuck to me) but I've been so pleased it's been snowing since last Saturday afternoon.

With the Christmas season, comes many gifts and treats from neighbors.....

WARNING: this following story is shared with no intention to cause offense to any who own, love, or even like pets

I was raised to hate animals. I don't think this was an intentional training on my parent's, or I should say, my father's part, but naturally developed over time. Despite growing up raising pigeons and having a loyal dog, for some reason my Dad hates animals. I guess that may be a stretch because a bird laid her eggs in the wreath on my parent's front door this summer and everyone had to walk clear around to the back of the house so as to not disturb them. Everyone was banned from touching the front door for weeks to preserve some finches...so I guess it would be more accurate to say my dad hates domesticated animals--pets.

I remember as a kid, we obviously wanted a pet pretty bad but knew it would not fly with dad so my older sister and I took it upon ourselves to walk to Wal-mart and buy a feeder goldfish for 15 cents and hid it under Heather's bed. Needless to say, the fish died quickly and we were pet owners for only a short time.

When we would see animals dead on the side of the road growing up my Dad would always point them out and say something like: "oh look, the kitty decided to take a nap on the road." followed by everyone staring at the road kill and someone saying "it's not sleeping dad, it's dead!!" [Maybe this is the source of my obsession with always investigating the roadkill as thoroughly as I can during the short seconds as I drive by]
My dad would also always swerve toward cats, dogs, and even birds that were clearly out of the way as a joke. He'd usually get an exasperated: "Scott!" from my mom and giggles from us kids in the back. Why it was hilarious to us that Dad was jokingly endangering the lives of innocent creatures is beyond me, but I still smile at the thought of those occasions.

My Mom loves animals, especially dogs and has always made it known if my Dad ever dies she will be able to have a dog finally....and she will keep it in the house!

This is the greatest pet offense of all for my father, having a cat or dog in your house, which is where we get back to this story's intro--the neighbor treats.

A couple nights ago a neighbor gift was on the counter and he picked it up, excited to partake of the treats. Glancing at the gift tag, he suddenly lobbed the gift across the room into the trash as if his hand had been burned. "What was that about?" I asked. He wrinkled his face in disgust and said: "they have cats in the house." We all busted out laughing. I actually don't think this neighbor has cats in the house but just the suspicion was too much evidence for my dad, because having a cat or dog in the house inevitably means there is cat/dog hair in any food that leaves that house.

A phone call I had with my Dad right after I moved out off to college suddenly flew to my mind. One night my dad called me, which never happened as he hates to talk on the phone and my Mom at that point was still calling me every day. Here is our conversation back in 2003:

Me: Hello?

Dad: Jessica, I just want you to know if you have a dog in your house I will never visit you.

Me: What?

Dad: A dog. If you have a stinking dog rubbing his butt all over your carpet I will never come see you, no matter what your mom says.

Me: Dad what in the world are you talking about? I don't even have a dog.

Dad: I'm talking when you live on your own and grow up...I can't stand stinking dogs drooling in the house!

Me: Well I can promise you now I will never have a dog, let alone let a dog live in my house.

Dad: Good. I'm glad. Bye.

He hangs up on me.

I called my Mom back to ask what that was all about. She said they were watching TV and a commercial came on with a dog in the house and my Dad went off on how disgusting it was and my mom, to defend the issue said: "well Jessica, your favorite, will probably have a dog so you'll have to get used to the fact some people like them," or something like that. [To clarify, this summer my Dad announced Lynette is his favorite, so I don't know why I was the one to have the imaginary dog living with me to test my dad] Thus in defiance to me and anyone else who has an animal, whether real or fictional, my dad illustrated the necessity of our relationship dissolving, dare I ever chose to allow a "stinking dog" live in my house.