Originally published January 23, 2012.
I love my dog, Pudge. What’s not to love? She’s loyal, and smart, and cute. She’s the best dog in the whole entire universe. Even so, she is not allowed, under any circumstances, to kiss me. I don’t kiss her either. I will hug her, cuddle her, scratch behind her ears, and rub her belly till the cows come home, but no kissing. I simply will not allow it.
My kids think kissing the dog is perfectly acceptable. In fact, when Christian comes home after having been away at college for months at a time, the first thing he does is kiss the dog. No affectionate greeting for mama when he walks through the door. Nope. No leaping into my waiting embrace, proclaiming how much he missed me. Nope. He drops to his knees and kisses the dog AND he lets her kiss him back AND he seems to enjoy it. Blechkkk. Dog germs.
I am forever ballyhooing around the house, shrieking things like THAT’S DISGUSTING and YOU’RE GOING TO GET SICK and DON’T KISS THE DOG. They just stare at me like I’m a crazy person, ignore my rantings and go right on kissing the dog.
“STOP KISSING THE DOG,” I protest, shaking my fists.
“Ma, everybody knows dogs’ mouths are way cleaner than peoples’ mouths,” they argue matter-of-factly.
I’ll tell you something. When everybody says dog’s mouths are cleaner than peoples’ mouths they are thinking about one thing. Bites.
My son, Jared, was two years old when he chomped right through the flesh in my thigh. Within a day the wound was festering pus and smelled like my kitchen sink the morning after a piece of raw meat lodges itself in the garbage disposal.
Pudge, on the other hand, recently nipped at my husband leaving him with a punctured lip (no they were not kissing – he was trying to get her off the couch). Anyway, the wound healed without complications or infection in something like a day and a half, and I have a 14 year-old scar on my leg where Jared sunk in his teeth.
I hate to admit it, but human on human bites are more likely to get infected than dog on human bites. Obviously this means dogs’ mouths are “way” cleaner than peoples’ mouths, right? Everybody knows this, right? WRONG.
Everybody, except for me. I do not know dogs’ mouths are cleaner than peoples’ and on top of that I don’t give a hoot what everybody knows because everybody is wrong. AND, if everybody jumps off a bridge are you going to jump too? I don’t think so. Dogs’ mouths are NOT, I repeat NOT, cleaner than peoples’ and I have proof.
Pudge licks her butt. There…I said it. Don’t act all high and mighty, like your dog is above licking his own butt. Remember, Pudge is the best dog in the whole entire universe and if she licks her butt, your dog for sure licks his butt. All dogs lick their butts.
The thing is, people do not lick their butts (at least none I know). So I ask, how can dogs’ mouths be cleaner than peoples’ mouths? I’ll tell you how. THEY CAN”T. Dogs’ mouths’ are not cleaner than peoples’ mouths so stop kissing the dog and go kiss your mother.
Dogs are loyal and they love you like the dickens. Unfortunately, they also lick their butts, and if that’s not enough to keep you from kissing the dog and vice-versa, they’ll drink out of the toilet every chance they get.
Loyal and loving, butt-licking toilet drinkers…dogs will be dogs. Go ahead. Kiss the dog. See if I care, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.