Two years ago, I was learning to skateboard in a park when an off-leash dog ran up and began circling me. This German shepard “puppy,” as the owner later called it, lunged at me four times.
I picked up my board, and walked away slowly, never once turning my back to the dog. My imagination told me that if I walked too fast, or showed more anxiety, the dog would leap over 10 feet to bite and scratch my face. While these thoughts raced through my head, the owner was calling me back, saying he wouldn’t bite.
Since then, I’ve had more negative experiences with big dogs — from a week in Montana where everyone seemed to own chicken-munching pets to my time in University Park, where I’ve avoided several sections of the neighborhood due to roaming canines.
Though I refuse to write off all big dogs, in every interaction I now have with one, there remains fear, or at least, a couple droplets of sweat on my upper lip which I’m convinced they can smell.
Still, the only dog which doesn’t instill such anxiety is one of the more hated breeds: chihuahuas.
Yes, they scream, they holler, they even bite — but I’ve never feared for my life when faced with these tiny angels with chips on their shoulders.
In high school, I volunteered at an animal shelter and got to know dogs of all kinds. Gentle but slobbery giants like the great danes were equally my friends as the newborn puppies.
Coco. Photo courtesy of Camille Kuroiwa-Lewis.
But I came to learn that big dogs, like the wolfdog that once came through the kennels, needed to be off limits for me.
Occasionally, when I hyped myself up too much, I attempted to take one of these big dogs out for potty time — only to discover, when it came time to bring them back in, that they were capable of knocking me off my feet dragging me through the grass.
Luckily, I had a walkie-talkie to call for backup.
I am not strong enough to take a big dog out to the bathroom, let alone fight one off. Having a dog kick your butt is demoralizing, so instead I opt for the ones I can carry in a single hand.
Yes, chihuahuas are annoying. My parents’ little dog, Coco, snarls at babies. She picks on puppies her size or smaller, and bites my hands until they turn purple.
But at the end of the day, I can always just pick her five pounds up and take her to time out.
That’s the beauty of a little dog: Try all they might to hit you where it hurts, they never can seem to reach you. Literally — they’re too small to do any big damage.
Camille Kuroiwa-Lewis is the Living Editor for The Beacon. She can be reached at kuroiwal26@up.edu.
