On Why I Choose Celibacy, Reason #36, aka The Barker

He seemed like a normal guy at first. We got lost in typical courtship discourse: How’s it going? Wanna grab a pizza? Can you touch your elbow to your ear?


At some point, though, he began barking. By this, I mean, he barked. He was a barker. I’m not talking about being snippy or an outright jerk. He literally barked.

I called him up one day, and he answered the phone with an “Aarff!” Taken aback, I giggled. Note to self: Dumb move, Robyn. The beastly vocalizations picked up in pace and frequency to an: “Ar-Ruuff, Arr-Arr (snort) Ruff! Ruff!” once every few minutes. This began occurring at mealtimes, in crowded movie theatres, shopping malls, and sporadically during every interaction.

In retrospect, clearly, the guy’s got Tourette’s. At the time, though, I was dumbfounded. I could not believe I was dating a barker, and his name wasn’t Bob.

You’d think with such animalistic tendencies, we had chemistry – if you know what I mean. Nope. On a trip to Tahoe, in a hotel room with a Jacuzzi, with me lounging in said Jacuzzi, the barker chose to sprawl out on the bed to watch TV. I can’t remember which show won his attention, but I’m guessing it was Lassie Come Home.

Now, I don’t have a problem with dogs of the canine variety. However, I do take issue with dogs in human form. Call me picky if you will, but I couldn’t take it any longer. I finally snapped and unleashed the boy.

“Go fetch! No, it’s further. Much further! Good boy. Keep going! Faster, further, further, faster…”