“The word is divided into that which is peanut butter and that which is not,” my friend Jack used to say. What he meant is that any sentence that begins “there are two kinds of people in the world…” always and inevitably oversimplifies the situation.
That being said, there are two kinds of dog owners, people
who treat their dogs with love and tenderness, who care for them in sickness and in health, whose hearts break when their dogs age and die, and people who lock their dogs in closets and foreclosed houses and walk away, people who throw dogs off roofs and do things I know about but can not bear to think about.
Speaking as the first kind of dog owner, I think
it probably is better that my dog does not understand the word “cancer,” that he cannot fear the future. His
particular cancer is not too bad, as these things go, and we still have some
good years ahead of us. But he will break my heart, sooner or later, and now I know how.