Wherefore the genetic makeup for dog ownership?

I've been thinking about how people seemed so shocked when I announced we were getting a dog. Responses ran the gamut of  "what are you thinking" to " wow, that's huge."

Mom and Towser the dog.

We never had a dog all the while I was growing up. Just cats. When she was a little girl, my mom lived on her grandparents' farm, just west of Naperville. There they had Old Towser and New Towser (also various cats and other farm animals). My dad grew up in Indiana, on a small truck farm, and I never heard him mention any animals. He dearly loved our cats, but I think he was afraid of dogs.

Maybe the fear was justified, somewhat. A classic family story my mom loved to tell involved me, a barnyard dog (a Shepherd or Shepherd mix), and my dad. Dad was painting the house, so my mom took me with her to visit her friends (on a farm that is now swallowed up by suburbia--near today's Mill Street in Naperville). I was being clingy and bratty, so my mom called dad, asked him to come and get me, and take me to grandma's. He must have been a bit frustrated, having to stop his painting, clean up, and drive over to get me. The minute I saw him I started clinging to mom and pleading "I'll be good. Let me stay." Dad walked over to me, took me by the arm, and then got bit in the butt as the barnyard dog evidently thought I was in some danger. My dad was very mild mannered, but he was so startled at being nipped in the behind that he stood up and said "That damn dog just bit me."

Dad with either Cassius or Euripides.

Fast forward a bit and I get dropped off at Grandma's and Auntie Toots' house. I ran up the sidewalk to greet them, saying "Guess what? That damn dog bit daddy." Little pitchers. Looking back on this, I realize there were lots of stifled laughs, knowing glances, and sheepish grins going on that day.

Evidently I had some dog exposure--there's a picture of me with some puppies. In my Grandma's hand, it's noted: Barbie and the Bubert puppies. Grandma's friend, Ida Bubert, and her daughter, Miriam Fry, were longtime family friends.

Little me, hanging on to a puppy.

My only bad experience was when I was six and got to meet a cousin's Great Dane. I had no idea what a  Dane was, and I remember being terrified when something about the size of a pony trotted into the room. I shied back, but finally my mom convinced me to come over and pet Cindy, the Dane. The dog looked at me, walked over, and bit me below the eye. It took decades for me to overcome my fear of Danes...and to trust women named Cindy. We never figured out why the dog did what she did. I didn't need stitches, but of course I had to get a tetanus shot. My dad had a tetanus phobia, so I was a well-inoculated child.

I wonder how dad would feel about Dieter? If he sat down all the time, he'd be fine. I know mom would love him. And she'd for sure comment on the size of his paws!