I had a dad who didn’t want a pet in the house. It started with one Yorkie. Then 2 Yorkies. Briefly there were 5 (the first two were old and didn’t last much longer) leaving 3.
It’s funny how Someone says they’re not a cat person. Then end up with one in their lap. 
Pets seek out the one person that tries to ignore them. 
Here’s 50 reluctant Dad’s who became pet owners. (Not clickbait, it’s all on one page). 50 Dads Who Didn't Want The Damn Pet In Their Lives | Bored Panda
Obligatory nitpick: “Dads”, not “Dad’s”. Plural, not possessive.
Fixed just before the edit timeout. 
Mr.Wrekker tried that on me. When we got the first dog he was smitten and hooked on house dogs.
Cats? Not so much.
He claims he’s afraid of cats.
I told him he should be afraid, very afraid.
Nitpick follow-up:
Mostly…
My dad swore he would never get another damn dog after all us kids left home. Twenty years went by when he had complications from diabetes and had his leg taken off he was depressed. So I got a rescue dashshund for him (retired stud) and took it over to his house. Dog never left his side or lap up until the day he passed.
I always forget how to add apostrophe-S to names and titles. I blame my 5th grade English language teacher.
sorry for the threadshit
‘My’ Rat Terrier was ‘my’ dog. I picked her out. I paid for her. I potty trained her. I took her to all her well puppy appts. I took her to puppy class which thoroughly flunked (she was smarter than the trainer).
I brought her home and immediately was ‘trained’ to follow all her commands.
I fed, cleaned up after her. Gave her baths. Brushed her horrible teeth. I bravely put a muzzle on her to get her shots. The vet-techs hated her. So I got bit. Took her and had her spayed. Had to go pick her up extremely early because she escaped from the vet-helper who took her out to potty. Had to brave highway traffic to catch her up and take her home, in ‘my’ car where she pee’d and bled allover the passenger seat because she wouldn’t go in the carrier. Ruined the seat, she did. Had to have the upholstery redone. It didn’t match, thereby ruining the resale value of the whole car.
And…guess who she loved and adored?
Not me. Nope. Not me.
She loved Mr. Wrekker and only him.
And lived 221/2 years.
An evil tyrant was never as bad as her.
I cried over her for weeks after she died.
She’s buried in my flower bed she dug up a 1000 times. Ate my bulbs. Mashed my flowers every year.
I loved that dog.
Bad habits are hard to break. Plurals tripped me up (once in awhile) in school.
The dogs should be very afraid too. Very afraid.
Someone is chopping onions in my viciinity.
Dachshunds are my favorite breed too.
Dachshund are some of the coolest dogs on the planet.
Son-of-a-wrek and family have one. He’s a clown and always disruptive and in your face. And the funnest thing. He’s my grand-dog and I’m crazy about him.
He’s loyal and kid-friendly.
Just the best.
(I have 2 Chihuahua grand-dogs as well. They like me better than their Mom)
Ok, I’ll riff on this a bit … not necessarily dads, but just parents …
Both my parents were born in Poland; mom on a farm, dad in a skiing village. Both regarded dogs kind of as, well, very ancillary characters in the household. Like, sleep outside, you have a house there, you have a job to do, that kind of stuff. So, about a year and a half after I got married, we adopted a pit bull from the local animal shelter I had been volunteering at. My folks, especially my mom, was like “why the fuck are you getting a dog? Why don’t you have a baby?” and that kind of shit. (I’m exaggerating a bit, but that was the message.) My dad was malleable, but my mom really grew up with dogs as little more than just another farm animal. She didn’t really quite understand the “American” fondness for pets, and treating them as a family member, basically.
So, six months later, my wife and I go off to India for three weeks for half-work, half-play. Parents volunteer to take care of the pit bull. I come back, and next thing I know, the dog is sleeping in their bed–something I would have bet my life against ever happeneing–my mom is hand-feeding him open-faced sandwiches with cream cheese and ham for breakfast, and is giving me an itinerary of his moods throughout the weeks we were gone, and how he missed us, etc., etc. I’m like, who is this woman?
He is still alive, about to reach nine years, and my mom has finally retired and is asking us to help in finding a dog for them. So we’ve done our job. I was over there this afternoon, and next to the pictures of all their granddaughters, they have a couple of pictures of Zuk, our dog.
Pets, I mean “companion animals” are wonderful.
I was strongly against getting a dog, which my eldest son really wanted, while our elderly cat was still alive. At one point I actually Decided That We Would Not Be Doing That. But he was so dejected and the yellow Lab puppy we were offered was so cute, I caved in after a few days. It’s been nine years now - it’s a very sweet dog, but dumb as a box of rocks. Best decision I’ve ever reconsidered.
Growing up, we always had dogs. My mom always said she hated cats.
When I moved back here, to help her take care of my dad, I brought my two cats. She was surprised at how different they were from each other. She said, “I always thought they were all the same, like squirrels.” I asked her why she thought all squirrels were the same.
Long story short, she became very attached to one of them, the solid gray one. She talked to him and he slept in her bed. They had become best buddies. When she finally passed, the cat just moped around for several weeks.
I just don’t think anyone could/would love my cats like I do.
I’m sitting here with both of them sitting on my lap. Fussing with each other. I do my best not to show either one to be my favorite. If there’s anything worse than a hungry Siamese it’s a jealous Siamese.
I just felt a claw go in the skin of my thigh.
I swear than can read my mind.
If anything was to happen to me they would be re-wilded in about 7 minutes.
Ouch. Another claw.
I’ve had three Boston terriers throughout my adult life. They were great companions. My 2nd and 3rd Boston had health problems. That’s always a risk with purebreds
I had a black and white Chihuahua that was really sweet. The only dog that I let sleep in my bed. I guess he didn’t know he was a Chihuahua. He didn’t have any of the annoying, aggressive traits typical of the breed.
I’m resisting the impulse to get a new pet. They do bring a lot of comfort and love into a home. It’s amazing how quickly we get close to pets. I just don’t have enough time for a puppy right now. I’d have to leave it alone too often. Eventually the time will be right and I’ll get another Chihuahua.
My dad didn’t mind pets, but they were always cats. Smaller than dogs, didn’t eat as much, and so on. He’d never had a dog in his life.
One day he was going back and forth to the hardware store downtown and kept noticing a half grown dog running around, Based on it’s bone structure we guessed it was a mix of Bassett Hound and Yellow Lab. Kind of looked like a Lab with half length legs, but boy did he bark and howl like a bassett. This was in 1977, the year Smokey and the Bandit came out, so the dog never got taken to the shelter after my dad picked h im up and gave him the name Fred.
Fred died after thirteen years. Dad never had another dog, but did help rescue a couple of cats.
Acey, I love Boston Terriers. That may very well be my next dog. My longtime friend raises them and has pups occasionally.
My Daddy had a solid black bull Terrier. He said(and could’ve been wrong) solid black ones were rare. It had a socially unacceptable name. He got some kinda perverse pleasure in telling people his name.
No dog was ever as nasty tempered. Just a grouch. Early on he staked out a particular chair in my Daddy’s house. No one was allowed near it. Not that you want to sit in it. He slobbered allover it. Gross.
Daddy told me that was the only 4 legged creature he ever loved.
I’ll keep that in mind Beck. I’ve always liked Bostons black & white coats. The short haired Chihuahua I got had a similar B&W pattern.
Bostons come in different sizes. Some are 15 lbs and some are 20 or more. I had to drive to Mississippi to pick up my last Boston. She was about 14lbs. Really small for the breed. Perfect size for me.
Right now things are too hectic. I do want another pet when my life settles back down.
We always had a dog when I was growing up. When I was around 14, I wanted a cat. My dad told me “no” in his crabbiest dad’s voice. It was probably more like - “Jesus Christ, I don’t want a god damn cat in the house.” Yep, that was it. That summer, my friend had a stray black kitten hanging out in her yard. I begged and begged my parents to have it. One day, I just brought her home. My dad came home from work that night, saw the cat, and said “Jesus Christ”. (I know it may sound like it, but no, he was not a religious man 
) After about an hour or so, I walked into the living room and there’s my dad lying on the floor feeding the kitten lunchmeat. Her name was Shady and she lived for 14 years. She spent a lot of those years on my dad’s lap.