I felt a bit sick, like when you’re on the precipice of saying something irretrievable that might result ultimately in the breakdown of your relationship. I also felt adrenalin fuelled, fired up. White wine did that to me, I shouldn’t drink it. Granted, it had been a tricky year and I was overly sensitive on the issue of procuring dogs. I’d been living in Serbia where speying / neutering campaigns are not what they ought to be and litters of tiny pups are dumped with alarming regularity. I’d got a bit involved in dog rescue (never a good idea for an Empath) and understandably, I was rather anti Buying A Dog.
This particular friend – one of my best – is one of the smartest people I know, she blazes through life with ease and originality. Her spelling is utterly appalling as is her handwriting but those are literally the only two bad things I can say about her. She’s fantastic. Except that right then, eyes glittering with disgust, I didn’t find her fantastic. I found her arrogant , annoying, rude, ill informed. She’d made the mistake of telling me – blithely, casually – that she was going to buy a dog. She wanted a specific breed, she said, but she didn’t know which. I found this ludicrous and told her so in no uncertain terms. If she wasn’t passionate already about a particular breed for a particular reason, what was wrong with a mixed breed? I just didn’t get it. We argued back and forth, the novelty of not being on the same side for the first time ever exhilarating.
It was a horrible evening, I hated arguing with her and felt jangly until we saw each other again and cleared the air. We joke about it now – she claims I’ve put her off ever getting a dog, any dog – she said she’s too terrified to do it, or rather do it ‘wrongly’, since that evening. I don’t believe this however – she’s not at all the type of person to roll over – and I check her house for a clandestine cockerpoo every time I go over.