I love animals; I grew up with them.
Our pooch, Smokey the Wonderdog, was acquired two years before I was born; he passed away in our basement more than sixteen years later.
During that period, and in the years since, I've been a human father to: hamsters, guinea pigs, fish, cats, lizards, and even rescued a Vietnamese Pot Bellied Pig from a farmhouse before relocating her to a sanctuary eighteen months later.
I dogsit for my sister regularly.
I love animals. I eat them; but when I'm not eating them, I love 'em.
That being said, when you remove a creature from its natural habitat and make it a member of your family, there should be certain constraints put on it. It this case, it's called a leash.
If you own a dog, and the two of you are neither in your house nor frolicking in a dog run, whoever of you has more than two legs should be restrained. Period.
It doesn't matter if (you're under the impression) your dog never bites; this guy's dog doesn't bite, either:
But stuff happens.
There are fellow earthlings on this planet who are fearful of dogs; who don't want a wet muzzle in their crotch; who don't want their children knocked over in the park by your bitch. Whether you are offended by their sensibilities or not, they are in the right. Period. 'Ruff!' End of sentence.
You purchased a wild animal; you are responsible for this wild animal as I would be if I owned a rodeo bull. Period. 'Snort!' End of sentence.
If I want to pat your pooch (and I generally do), I will approach slowly, with my hand out, and ask if your dog is friendly and likes to be patted.
If you are proud of your four-legged friend, and would like to show him off, feel free to approach me and ask: "Would you like to pet my dog?", then live with the answer.
As for using my lawn as a toilet: we all own ceramic, indoor toilets; we urinate and defecate in them - not around them or elsewhere in the neighborhood - for sanitary reasons.
My lawn is not disguised as a lawn. It is a lawn, not a toilet. I don't pee on it; my kids don't pee on it. When your dog pees on it and then my children play on it, I'm kinda grossed out.
When your dog moves his bowels on my grass, or the sidewalks of the city, please understand: s*** sticks. Unless a pressure washer accompanies you on your walk, there will be residue of this s*** everywhere. When I picnic in that residue...I'm kinda grossed out.
I know the retort to my arguments is often: dogs are like children to their owners. Some parents having really annoying kids; owners have 'exuberant' dog.
In that case, let's make a deal:
1) If my children ever sniff your crotch, let me know; I will explain to them (again!) the concept of "inappropriate".
2) If my child ever bites your face, let me know; after insisting that is very unlike a child of mine, I will tell him 'No!'.
3) If my child ever defecates on your property, or the sidewalks of your neighborhood, let me know; after insisting he was toilet trained years ago, I will wonder where I went wrong.
4) If my child is ever wondering around without his owner (me) - with or without a leash - call Child Protective Services; they'll let me know.
As pit-bull owners are fond of pointing out: there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.
That's why I love animals; it's their owners that drive me crazy.