Senior Amy Wendland earned a Silver Key Award in the 2011 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Contest, which recognizes students’ art or creative writing on a regional level.  Wendland wrote this winning personal narrative in writing teacher Dianne Hirner’s class.  Wendland’s work was chosen among 521 other submissions acquired in the Missouri and Kansas City, Kansas areas.

According to Wendland, her narrative explained why her family now owns a cat after having bad experiences with dogs.

“I wrote about all the dogs my family has had and described why each was an utter failure in dog ownership,” Wendland said.  “After having three dogs that bit people without reason and one that tried to eat our guinea pigs, my family just gave up and got an antisocial cat.  But we love him!”

Wendland submitted the narrative herself online, with the direction and assistance of Hirner. However, Wendland did not expect to win anything at all and just hoped for a good grade.  But, she was pleasantly surprised and honored with the outcome.

“I was really flattered to know that someone [who] has seen a lot of good writing thought that something I had written was worthy of being called good writing too,” Wendland said.

June 1, 2011,  Wendland’s piece will be presented in an online publication called Missouri Youth Write.

My Family and I Are Cat People

By Amy Wendland

Ogden Nash once famously declared that, ‘The dog is man’s best friend.’ Sorry Ogden, but I’m going to have to disagree with you on this one. I mean, this is mankind you’re talking about here. Don’t you think that statement’s a little bold, a little overreaching? Not everyone is a dog person; the people in my family certainly aren’t dog people. It’s not that my family hasn’t tried to own and love and keep a dog. Believe me, we’ve tried. My family has owned four dogs, but none of them have lasted.

It all started with Chubby. Just weeks after her arrival, she began growling at strangers. Assuming Chubby’s territorial snarls would lead to more aggressive behavior, such as attacking me and my brothers without reason, my mom returned her to the pound. She remembers the commemorative sign I created after Chubby’s demise. Decorated with a carefully drawn crayon portrait of Chubby and me, anchored to my bedroom door with a piece of Scotch tape, and most likely stained with tears, the sign read, “Chubby, we will never forget you.”

Contrary to my promise, I have completely forgotten Chubby. Besides her name and her dirty blonde fur, I have absolutely no recollection of the dog I once so deeply mourned. If asked, I couldn’t even tell you whether she was actually chubby. For all I know, she was a petite, well-toned canine simply named by some irony-loving animal shelter employee. Or, maybe she was in fact rolling with fat, had doggie cankles, and could barely make it to her food bowl before succumbing to the weight of her own obese body and passing out on the kitchen floor. I don’t know; I’ll have to ask my mom some time.

Ever since then, we have tried in vain to fill Chubby’s void with various shelter dogs. Our second dog was Bailey, a black lab who sent my dad into an asthma attack with her profuse shedding and tried to eat our guinea pigs. She only lasted a night before my mom returned her to the PetSmart entrance where she was guilted into adopting her just eighteen hours before.

After Bailey, there was Nikki, a gross-smelling, socially awkward miniature poodle. She was around long enough to get comfortable’”that is, comfortable enough to pace around atop our kitchen table and urinate on a variety of household surfaces. But she never got comfortable with the concept of a human holding her. So, when I forgot and rudely attempted to pick her scrawny body up, she politely reminded me of her freaky phobia by mauling the right side of my face’¦alright, mauling is a slight exaggeration. Her bite was more like a nip and it didn’t even break the skin. But the emotional wound ran much deeper; ever since than, I’ve had serious trust issues with poodles. Anyway, after treating my scratch and checking Nikki for rabies and demonic possession, my dad returned her to the shelter.

Our last attempt at owning a dog came in the form of Tex, a mix of Labrador, Australian Sheppard, and Satan. Nearly a year into his stay with us, Tex went after the hand of a construction worker helping to remodel our house. Not wanting to admit that Tex’s obedience classes and doggie boot camp sessions had been an expensive waste, my parents blamed the construction worker’s shifty and possibly threatening appearance. But when he tried to go after his next victim, a four-year-old girl dressed in Lilly Pulitzer and bows, my parents were out of excuses. My mom told us she took Tex to a farm. However, seeing as this is the lie parents tell their kids after having to put down their dog, Tex is probably dead, reigning in doggie Hell alongside those pit bulls that attack children riding their bikes.

Looking back on my family’s history of traumatic failures in dog ownership, it is no surprise that we now own a cat. His name is Pago and he has lasted longer than all our past dogs combined. While he hisses at you if you accidentally step on his tail or slam his head in the door, he has yet to reveal aggression to match that of Bailey, Nikki, or Tex. Unlike a dog, we don’t have to walk Pago or teach him how to sit and stay. We’ve taught him to go to the bathroom outdoors, so we don’t have to deal with a litter box. We bought a special food dispenser that refills itself, so we don’t even have to feed him for weeks at a time. He doesn’t slobber on us or constantly beg to be petted. In fact, he is content sleeping in a dark room without human contact for days. He is the easiest pet ever.

My family has tried rescue dog after rescue dog, but we are finally happy with our rescue cat. Pago may not be our best friend. Nevertheless, we enjoy his presence and don’t mind petting him every once in a while. Not everyone can be a dog person. And, while I’m embarrassed to admit it, my family and I may actually be cat people. Yes, my family is not made up of dog lovers, but a bunch of crazy cat people who have owned a bunch of crazy dogs.