"I hope this isn't an offensive question, but why don't Jews like dogs?"
As the only visibly Jewish dog owners at our local park (my husband wears a kippah, and I tend to dress a little more conservatively than most women), I've gotten this question a few times. I've even gotten it from other "invisible" Jews, where they ask more specifically about "religious Jews" not liking dogs. It's a valid question.
Matt, for example, finds it bizarre that people will cross the street to avoid his dogs, which combined weigh under 20 pounds. They could be crushed by a toddler with a rattle, but grown men and women treat them like slavering wolf-beasts.
I've never conducted a study to confirm my hypotheses, but I believe I know the answer. There are several factors. First of all, religious Jewish families tend to be large, with five, six, even nine kids. (I personally know someone with 18, but that is stretching it.) Unless you have a large personal fortune, money can be tight, and there isn't a lot of extra change for kibble and vet bills. There is also the caretaking factor; with only three kids, I have time to spend walking a dog. Someone with more kids than I may not have the time or the energy for an optional responsibility like a dog.
Second, while the collective memory is fading, there are still those who see, in the most innocent beagle, shades of a snarling, snapping Doberman or German shepherd with a Nazi standing behind it. In fact, though I try not to let it affect me, I am not a German shepherd lover (a little ironic, as Our Best Friend clearly has shepherd in his genome), for that very reason. This reaction is especially strong in children of survivors, and those who lost family during the war. Dogs were not their friends; dog were used to sniff them out of hiding, to attack, even to kill. They see no other purpose for these animals.
Finally, it's simply not in the culture. Religious Jews are not known for their participation in multicultural group activities such as sports or dog shows. Generally speaking, they're not into pets at all. Of course there are exceptions; in fact, we know one family with a pet snake. But unlike a dog, the snake does not need to be walked, let out, or even fed every day. (On the other hand, it eats frozen mice reheated in the microwave; no thanks, I'd rather do dog poop.) People who are not raised with pets, or know people with pets, tend not to be pet lovers. They see the smell, the nuisance, and the expense, rather than the fun, the love, and the joy a pet brings to his/her family.
I suspect this attitude will fade in coming generations. Our ownership of a large playful dog has brought every dog-loving child in our neighbourhood out of the woodwork and into our back yard. There are even a few older kids who hang out at the dog park to get their animal fix. The parents have multiple reasons for not wanting a dog; some have other children who are terrified of dogs, others can't afford a pet, and many worry about what the neighbours would think if they got one. (That, of course, is ridiculous; I'm their neighbour, and I'd think it would be great.)
Thus, we become ambassadors-- our family to the world outside the small community of observant Jews, and Our Best Friend to those in the community who run from him in terror. Ours is definitely the easier job, and OBF makes a pretty poor emissary. He doesn't know diplomatic restraint. He barks, he tugs at the leash, he's a little overenthusiastic. Still, he's had his successes. One of our neighours approached us over the summer, confessing to an extreme phobia, but also requesting help to overcome it. She allowed her toddlers to pat OBF, and cautiously reached out her hand as well. She was amazed at how his ears feel like velvet. I was just thrilled with her courage. It was good moment.
Ours is a city rife with ethnic tensions and debates about how far the government should go to respect the rights of minorities, and how much minorities should change in order to conform to the greater society. These issues are left outside the gate at our dog park. It's not just a place for dogs to run around in safety and freedom. The owners, too, have an unspoken pledge to respect each other as individuals. Just as all breeds are welcome, (and I've seen people turn a blind eye to the discriminatory "no pitbull" bylaw enacted by the city), all people are welcome, as long as they obey the cardinal rule and their dog is well-socialized. People have put forth their questions with civility and respect, and I answer in the spirit in which they were asked: to develop greater understanding of our neighbours as human beings.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Mayor of Dogtown
If our dog park had to elect a mayor, it would be Ronnie by acclimation.
Ronnie was one of the first people we met when we first started bring Our Best Friend to the park. He owns two dogs, both female, a lab cross (Brandy) and a malamute cross (Zara). Yet he's often there with someone else's dog, in addtion to or instead of his own. Sometimes it's Billie, an American bulldog, or Missy, a chihuaha mix, or Stanley, a shepherd mix. Ronnie is partial to mutts, and he's crazy about Our Best Friend. He always calls him over, pretending he has a ball to throw, but he's like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown; his hand is empty. I think OBF is getting wise to him; he doesn't some so quick when Ronnie calls.
Ronnie knows everyone in the park, and his friendships extend past the park's fence. I've heard him talking with people about sporting events, and the conversation is often a continuation about their discussion from the night before, when they all watching the game at home and chatting by phone. The other day, he greeted someone with, "I saw your sister here yesterday." And a different person asked, "Was my dad here then?" I didn't know any of these people, much less that their siblings and parents come with dogs of their own.
I don't know what Ronnie does for a living exactly, something to do with currency exchange, I think (either that or he's a ticket scalper), but it's clear it gives him a lot of free time. He's at the park almost every day, sometimes more than once. He'll come once with his own dogs, later with someone else's. One Sunday he was there with five dogs. The Spouse thinks we should get Ronnie to pick up Our Best Friend on the way.
Ronnie was instrumental in Our Best Friend's successful integration into the park. The first time we brought him, we were very nervous. We didn't know how OBF would react when let loose around other dogs, because he barked so aggressively at other dogs whenever we tried to walk him. We are not dog behaviour experts, and we can't tell the difference between excited barking and aggressive barking. So the first time we brought OBF, we had him on a leash.
Our Best Friend barked and barked and barked. We tried to calm him down, but he kept lunging at all the other dogs who came near us. Then Ronnie walked up to us and said, "You need to take off the leash."
Well, that sounded like bad advice to us. What if OBF went nuts on someone's dog? But Ronnie was sure that it was the leash making OBF so crazy. Leashes makes dogs feel vulnerable. They can't defend themselves or run away when restrained by a leash. And Ronnie was right. The minute we undid the leash (with considerable reluctance and fear, and the Middle Child in terror), everything got better. OBF sniffed Ronnie's dogs in a friendly, sociable way, and ran around like a kid after a long day at school. All signs of aggression vanished. That was beginning of our happy dog park days.
Ronnie always asks about my girls; for reasons unclear to me, he calls the Youngest "the Troublemaker." At first it bothered me, but then my daughter told me, giggling, "He's joking!" I knew that, but I wasn't sure she did. Of course the girls love his dogs. Brandy is affectionate and energetic; Zara is friendly and calm. She usually flops down on the grass to relax, while Brandy runs around playing. (Sometimes she can even entice OBF to play chase.) Today she left a great deal of slobber on my coat. I threatened Ronnie with dry cleaning bills, and he just laughed and said, "That's what you get for loving her." No, I think, that's what you get when you're loved back, as I got multiple Brandy kisses on the nose.
His dogs can slobber on me all they want. Ronnie embodies the spirit of our park-- friendly, open, and a dog lover to the bone. When he runs for mayor, he has my vote. Not that he needs it, of course-- he's the only man for the job.
Ronnie was one of the first people we met when we first started bring Our Best Friend to the park. He owns two dogs, both female, a lab cross (Brandy) and a malamute cross (Zara). Yet he's often there with someone else's dog, in addtion to or instead of his own. Sometimes it's Billie, an American bulldog, or Missy, a chihuaha mix, or Stanley, a shepherd mix. Ronnie is partial to mutts, and he's crazy about Our Best Friend. He always calls him over, pretending he has a ball to throw, but he's like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown; his hand is empty. I think OBF is getting wise to him; he doesn't some so quick when Ronnie calls.
Ronnie knows everyone in the park, and his friendships extend past the park's fence. I've heard him talking with people about sporting events, and the conversation is often a continuation about their discussion from the night before, when they all watching the game at home and chatting by phone. The other day, he greeted someone with, "I saw your sister here yesterday." And a different person asked, "Was my dad here then?" I didn't know any of these people, much less that their siblings and parents come with dogs of their own.
I don't know what Ronnie does for a living exactly, something to do with currency exchange, I think (either that or he's a ticket scalper), but it's clear it gives him a lot of free time. He's at the park almost every day, sometimes more than once. He'll come once with his own dogs, later with someone else's. One Sunday he was there with five dogs. The Spouse thinks we should get Ronnie to pick up Our Best Friend on the way.
Ronnie was instrumental in Our Best Friend's successful integration into the park. The first time we brought him, we were very nervous. We didn't know how OBF would react when let loose around other dogs, because he barked so aggressively at other dogs whenever we tried to walk him. We are not dog behaviour experts, and we can't tell the difference between excited barking and aggressive barking. So the first time we brought OBF, we had him on a leash.
Our Best Friend barked and barked and barked. We tried to calm him down, but he kept lunging at all the other dogs who came near us. Then Ronnie walked up to us and said, "You need to take off the leash."
Well, that sounded like bad advice to us. What if OBF went nuts on someone's dog? But Ronnie was sure that it was the leash making OBF so crazy. Leashes makes dogs feel vulnerable. They can't defend themselves or run away when restrained by a leash. And Ronnie was right. The minute we undid the leash (with considerable reluctance and fear, and the Middle Child in terror), everything got better. OBF sniffed Ronnie's dogs in a friendly, sociable way, and ran around like a kid after a long day at school. All signs of aggression vanished. That was beginning of our happy dog park days.
Ronnie always asks about my girls; for reasons unclear to me, he calls the Youngest "the Troublemaker." At first it bothered me, but then my daughter told me, giggling, "He's joking!" I knew that, but I wasn't sure she did. Of course the girls love his dogs. Brandy is affectionate and energetic; Zara is friendly and calm. She usually flops down on the grass to relax, while Brandy runs around playing. (Sometimes she can even entice OBF to play chase.) Today she left a great deal of slobber on my coat. I threatened Ronnie with dry cleaning bills, and he just laughed and said, "That's what you get for loving her." No, I think, that's what you get when you're loved back, as I got multiple Brandy kisses on the nose.
His dogs can slobber on me all they want. Ronnie embodies the spirit of our park-- friendly, open, and a dog lover to the bone. When he runs for mayor, he has my vote. Not that he needs it, of course-- he's the only man for the job.
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