This is my biggest confession ever

Text Lucy (my strong-minded alter ego) has something to tell you

I wonder how this cat feels about dogs. Photo by Andrew S on Unsplash

As you know, I write The Honesty Box to get some of my thoughts and feelings down and in doing so I hope people reading this will feel seen and heard.

I’ve been brave and written about not having kids when I wanted to, told you about how I struggle with feelings of attachment by date three and been open about the giant Aldi middle aisle jumble sale that bears some resemblance to my bedroom/office.

But there’s one huge thing I’ve never really come clean about, which I fear may be the scariest thing to admit of all.

I urge you to keep an open mind and try not to judge me for this confession. This is definitely me being courageous Text Lucy (my evil alter ego) today.

So here goes.

My big confession is: I don’t like dogs.

AKA: I am Not A Dog Person.

They threaten to get underfoot when I run through the park (yesterday morning I nearly squished two low-lying ones that were off their leads), scare my little nephews when we walk through the woods and have been known to jump muddy paws on to my vintage Levis.

I love the co-working place that I go to a few days a month, but I don’t touch any of the dogs that sometimes potter about the place while their owners tap at laptops.

If one does happen to brush my hand, or I feel the need to pretend I like the dog, I have to wash my hands immediately after petting it. Have you seen how close to the ground dogs’ noses get – and where they put their noses, not to mention their paws?

But the worst thing about dogs? Their poo.

It smears the pavements, hides under piles of leaves and sometimes appears in perfect turds in the middle of the grass near the playground in my local park.

Many owners are diligent about picking it up, but if a dog is off chasing squirrels, its owner might not know that it’s done a sneaky shit by a tree before it comes racing back.

It’s taken me a while to come to terms with the fact that I don’t like dogs, and I have felt the weight of society’s canine expectations for such a long time that I have even tried my hardest to become A Dog Person.

A few years ago, I joined Borrow My Doggy, a kind of dating site that matches dogs that need walking with people willing to walk them, thinking this would be a good way to get out of the house and maybe speak to some fellow dog-walkers who might turn out to be husband material.

I wrote a profile for the site, pictured myself smiling in a field with wellies on and ticked the boxes that said I would walk small dogs only, imagining I might be able to keep up with them when they inevitably tried to run away.

I scrolled through the dogs’ profiles and favourited the ones that took my fancy. I messaged a few owners. Then I waited.

A few of my messages received replies but no arrangements were made. One man asked me to look after his dog in my home for a month. I said no.

Then there was silence. Not even a sniff, let alone a bark in my direction.

I updated my profile, picturing myself with a friend’s pet, and ticked the medium-sized dog box to in the hope of attracting more matches.

Still nothing. I continued to pay the membership fee, but two years later, I had failed to walk any dogs and barely been matched with any.

I finally accepted that the animal kingdom must have been trying to tell me something and deleted my account.

This week I read a piece in the New York Times about a woman who got divorced and whose settlement included a cat and a dog (gift article link here). Having been in a home with a husband, two step children, three cats and a dog, her new setup - living alone with two pets - was quieter, but she loved her animals.

I get that dogs show love to humans, and can be a source of joy. But even the woman’s dog seemed to prefer men and the cat over her. Maybe dogs aren’t man’s best friend after all.

So there you go. My big confession. What do you think? Are you a dog sceptic too? (Please let it not just be me…)