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Alison Piepmeier

My life is all about bringing down the patriarchy. I write books and articles about feminism, and I also teach and direct the Women's and Gender Studies Program at the College of Charleston....

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Big dogs

Alison Piepmeier

Yesterday an assortment of Piepmeiers met for lunch in Nashville.  Biffle and I had one of our dogs in our car, along with several of Biffle’s musical instruments.  We parked the car on the street in front of the restaurant, unlocked, with the window down for the dog--Benya-- to have some air.  About halfway through the meal, Biffle grew curious and got my uncle, who’d never met our dog before, to sidle up to our car as if he were up to no good, to see what Benya would do.  Biffle and I watched from inside.

Uncle Rodger walked down the sidewalk, and then he’d taken one, maybe one and a half steps toward our open window, when Benya’s huge black head emerged from the car, barking.  No way he was sticking his hand into that car.  Of course, Biffle and I burst out of the restaurant, applauding, and introduced Benya to her uncle, so all was well.

I’ve had at least one big dog in my life since my first year in graduate school, in 1995, and I can’t imagine living without one.  The dogs are as fully integrated into our lives as they can be--they live in the house with us. they travel with us, and Biffle is quick to point out that they get better medical care than he does (to which I respond that he would get the same quality of medical care if I got to be in charge of it).

We didn’t get them for this reason, but one of the excellent side effects of big dog ownership, for a woman, is that the dogs help me to feel safer.  Being a woman out in public can be frightening.  Every woman I know has several scary stories of being harassed on the street, being touched or catcalled, being afraid to go back to her car in a parking lot, or fearing the stranger at her door.  I’ve taken self-defense classes and feel pretty sure of my ability to take care of myself, but when I’ve got one or more of our dogs with me, that feeling of security skyrockets.  People don’t mess with me.  When someone knocks at the door, there’s a furious barrage of barking from inside the house--annoying, yes, but also functional.  If I’m at home with the dogs, I know that no one can slip into the house unnoticed.  When I’m driving around with them, I don’t have to worry about the knife-wielding attacker in the backseat of the car.  They’re like two big, furry allies--waggy and slobbery most of the time, but able to transform in an instant to hard, intent, fang-wielding bodyguards.