One of the great joys of my walks with my Catahoula mix dog, Goldie, is to visit her friends along the way. Goldie is one of the friendliest dogs on the face of the earth. I have often wondered if she would treat an unwanted guest as an enemy or a friend. I hope I never have to find out. I have discovered that she is a consummate “ratter” which was a very welcome surprise. But that’s beside the point presently.
They say that dogs are the best friends of people, and I do not disagree. That does not go, however, for their owners. It’s only a few, mind you, but only a few rotten apples can spoil the whole bunch. On a few occasions I have had the unfortunate experience of running across people who let their own anxiety cloud their judgment about such things as courtesy and good manners. I too, when confronted by such behavior, find myself eschewing decorum for a baser kind of discourse, and I am the worse for it.
I looked up the word “frienemies” recently, while I was contemplating the topic for my column. It said the word was invented in 1977, and that it had not gained wide appeal. It is, of course, the mixing together of the word “friend” with the word “enemies.” The definition states that these are people who appear to be your friends, but in truth are not. In my youth, we referred to these people as “wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
I’ve had occasion to ponder this odd mixture of words, and their attendant meaning. On our two mile loop around Kyle, Goldie has had the opportunity to make friends with several dogs. There is the pair of dogs, one a German Shepherd; they both look mean, but Goldie runs “wind sprints” with them back and forth along the fence line. Next is a pair of white dogs, also pretty intimidating, but Goldie seems to have a good time with them too. There’s a toy schnauzer with its shrill bark and frantic running.
On the occasion of meeting dogs or owners who are less than friendly, I have attempted to pass them by on the other side of the road, but it is a shame. I, too, am a friendly sort, and don’t want anyone to take offense at me or mine. Why can’t we all just get along?
My wife, Goldie and I went on a walk over by Five Mile dam. We happened upon a soccer field. Goldie especially loves children, and was anxious to see and greet them with her usual enthusiasm. She got so excited, she pulled me so hard I tripped and feel over some up turned concrete. I lost control of the leash and Goldie went for a little child, who was surprised and scared, and started to cry. Her father was nearby and came to console her. I apologized profusely and he assured me that no harm was done.
That would have been a fine end to a very trying day. But another man came over from the soccer field yelling at me about my dog staying away from children. He said that a dog just recently bit his wife, and that dogs weren’t allowed by the soccer field. I know that not to be true, because I saw several dogs with families watching soccer. The only trouble was they weren’t trying to greet the children with the kind of enthusiasm that Goldie often displays. I should have controlled her, and I didn’t; that’s my fault. I recognized the man’s distress, but could only hear the attacks he made against me, and instead of responding to his concern for his wife, my response only escalated the situation.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that we are all frienenemies. We desire friendship, and make overtures toward that, but there is within each one of us, an ancient part of our brain that sees any attack as something that we should either fight against or flee from. And until and unless we find ways to choose another kind of response, we will always have fights, which can all too easily lead to wars. As for me and my house, we will seek to be friends with all we meet, be they persons or dogs.
Mark W. Stoub; author of “Blood Under the Altar” and the upcoming novel, “Fire in the Blood.”
mj.stoub@sbcglobal.net
