Dr. mOe Anderson is a writer, dentist, humorist, and grandmother with a quick wit and passion for life. Read her latest blog on love thy neighbor (and her dog) for a well deserved chuckle. Follow Dr. mOe on Twitter @drmoeanderson and visit her website www.drmoeanderson.com

1. So I have a problem with my neighbor. She's
a lovely person: friendly, takes care of her
yard, no noisy parties, and she even keeps an
eye on my place when I travel. I've met her
family, sipped wine on her sofa, and debated
politics with her. I consider her a friend. We
just have one small problem. One, small,
furry problem. She adopted a dog a few
months ago and she adores her little puppy. I
understand. I have never owned a dog
because of a traumatic childhood
experience. It wasn't bad enough to warrant
counseling but I haven't forgotten it. However, I have been around dogs all my life.
My oldest son has a dog named Onyx. He is my granddog. I buy Onyx doggie things for Christmas and
allow him in the house when they visit. As Onyx is the size of a small pony and I am slightly anal about
my housekeeping, this is a major concession for me. But that's as far as it goes. I pat Onyx once on the
back when they arrive. That's my equivalent of a canine handshake. After that, I simply make sure he's
comfortable, but we don't interact. Onyx is okay with this arrangement and so am I.
I believe my neighbor's dog understands our relationship but she does not. She is determined to make
me BFF's with her puppy. I have let him in the house and rubbed his pretty, white fur. That's all I got
y'all. Today, I saw her outside with another neighbor and when I walked over she said, "mOe hates
dogs." Really? I do not hate dogs like I do not hate trees. Trees are lovely. They provide shade for people
and shelter for birds. They give us oxygen. I just don't want one in my house. If it was extremely cold and
I saw a tree was shivering, I would allow it inside out of compassion. But as soon as the sun returned
from vacation, well...Why isn't there another word for this feeling? It's not hate. I have raised two
children. They are awesome men. I love my grandkids beyond measure. Yet, at 51 years-old, I do not
want a baby. Does that mean I hate kids? No, it means I experienced some childhood trauma. Those
boys terrorized me. But I still love them and I hug them and pat them on the back whenever they visit.
Then, I make sure they are comfortable while they eat all my food and text their friends.
Ahhhh, there's the solution. I need to get my neighbor's dog a phone!
Copyright 2014 by Monica F. Anderson. All Rights Reserved.
www.drmoeanderson.com
Twitter/@drmoeanderson