I’ve struggled with depression since I was 12, didn’t think I’d ever even see 18. here I am now, 10 years later. most days are still hard but this dog, he makes it better. this is my APBT Xerneas. he is my first dog. when I got him he was intended to be a companion dog, as time went on I noticed how incredibly smart he was and how much he loved to please me and take care of me. he would alert to my anger, anxiety, depression. so I started training him to be a service dog. no, not a service dog, /MY/ service dog. he stops me from self harm, he keeps me warm at night, he wakes me up when I have nightmares, he will search the house when I get overly paranoid and think people are here. he protects me. thanks to this dog I can now go out in public because I know if I get scared, he will be there. he will block people away from me, he will guide me into areas where people aren’t. if I dissociate, I can count on him to keep me on track and take me where i need to be. he can find the car when we walk out of stores. he knows how to turn off lights, open/close doors, pull me across a room if he needs to. he knows a lot of things and still has a lot of learning left to do, but the thing he does best is love. he never stops loving. you don’t know true love until you get a dog. that’s a forever bond. that sounds so cliche but it’s true. he has a big head with an even bigger heart. I love my dog more than anything and I will continue to fight the bad stereotypes. remember, punish the deed, not the breed. this is an amazing breed that only wants to please its owner. people are the problem, not the dogs.
Well, first off - I’m a dog person. I’m a fully-paid up member of the dog mafia (the Dogia?). I don’t notice people, I notice their dogs. I can name a breed at a glance. I support local dog rescue charities, and believe in ‘Deed not Breed.’ I currently have a great big black doggo looking at me with his pretty eyes wanting to share my sandwich.
I like big cats and I cannot lie.
That doesn’t mean tigers and lions and things, though they are very cool. I mean enormous house cats - Maine Coons and the like. The big, floppy flurry things that weigh insane amounts. The ones that sound like jumbo jets taking off when they purr, and take up half a settee with floofiness and ginormism.
I’d like cats more if they didn’t want to murder me. They’re too intelligent, too super villain. They are dangerous, and come equipped with various nasty weapons. The larger the housecat, I have found, the less murderkitty they seem to be. Perhaps, like Petyr Baelish, little housecats suffer from ‘small man syndrome’ and therefore want to take over the planet? They are Napoleon. With built in knives.
Thank fuck cats don’t have opposable thumbs. If dogs did, they’d make us tea, and give neck massages, and go down the shops. Cats would master the Vulcan neck pinch, and arm themselves with weapons they can happily hold in their already lethal little paws. They’d smugly knock things off other things, and refuse to pick them up while wiggling their thumbs at is a la Shakespearian insult.
Chihuahua are the same. They are the cat dog of the world. They’d be the brutish snappy yippy Number One to Mr Bigglesworth’s Lord High Emperor Godliness.
So cats. I have a complex relationship. But give me a kitten and I’d be yours forever more. Bloody adorable little psychopaths.
I should learn to refrain from reading the ignorant comments left on articles regarding dog attacks. Reading comments about how all staffies are “ugly” and should be put to sleep and banned because of the behaviour of one? Stop perpetuating the myth that all staffies are aggressive or violent. Blame the deed, not the breed, ya obtuse fucks. 😒