Dogs.
I'm not a dog person. They're needy, for one thing. I don't like things that need me. For another, I work close to the ground, and they don't understand that I don't consider it a compliment when they poop/pee in my workspace. (Rant warning: Dog owners, I consider it an outright offense if I am working in plain view and you allow your dog to do his business in my workspace. It makes me want to come in your house and do the same on your kitchen counter. Don't even get me started on the evil I think up when you don't have your poop machine leashed. End of rant.)
I don't like to be licked or jumped upon or panted on (especially when it's 90-something degrees outside.) I don't much like to cuddle something that smells like a wet dog. This goes for all creatures, but the primary offenders in my life are dogs.
Why, then, do dogs love me so much? Why do they follow me around even after I yell at them, stomp my feet, wave yard clippings at them, and (I'm embarrassed to say) occaisionally growl at them? I am a cat person, and understand why cats would do the same thing--their purpose in life is to be completely contrary and make life as inconvenient as possible for humans. (If they can be fed or adored in the process, it's a bonus.)
Not so with dogs. They just want love and friendship, and I offer neither to them. (Maybe sometimes, if they are clean and well-behaved and quiet. Same as small children.) Why am I a dog magnet?
:leaving: :sick: 
bye now