A Three-Pronged Response to Questions About My Disabled Dog

How to stop being casually ableist and let people enjoy their day

6 min readApr 10, 2022

I have a dog with three legs. A shiny, goofy, friendly, 35lb lab mix with a passion for squeaky toys, cuddling, taking selfies with graffiti, and meeting every dog and human that he sees. You might be reading this because I handed you our FAQ card. Maybe you Googled something about disability and pets. Either way, read on. You need to hear this.

A medium black dog sits in front of a wall of pink roses and gazes to the left, alert — Cricket enjoys gazing out the window at the tea shop

1) Interruptions and Emotional Labor

Wearing headphones is the universal symbol for “don’t talk to me right now.” And yet many of you think your demands override my wishes to be left alone. When I take off my headphones to hear what you have to say, mostly I am doing so because I expect you to have a real need — you are homeless and need money or food, you need directions, or maybe even want to ask where I get my haircut. Happy to help in all those situations. However, I do not owe you any time, attention, story, or education. And especially I do not owe you a polite response to a rude and invasive question.

You don’t know whether I am on a call, listening to a podcast, or just want to tune out the world with music. You have no idea how my day is going. And you never ask.

This interaction happens to us at least 15 times per week, and it is exhausting. Educate yourself on your own time; I don’t work for free. It’s so easy to pull out your phone and Google “can tripod dogs run?” or “do dogs with three legs need a prosthetic?” Additionally, women- or female-presenting folks bear a disproportionate burden of emotional labor in our culture and it needs to stop. I have answered these prying questions before, mostly because I never feel safe in public and want to avoid confrontations and altercations. But no more. Time and attention are valuable assets; reconsider for a moment before you ask someone for it, and why.

2) Personal Information and Entitlement

Most interactions asking for information about my dog start by interrupting my day as described above, and then launching directly into personal questions: no “hello”, no asking what his name is (or mine), or even giving him the direct attention that he loves. In what other interaction would this be ok? Would you come up to me and ask me about my weight, the money I make, who my partner is, or MY disabilities? My dog is part of my family. This is not new information — most Americans with pets consider them to be part of the family. It would be incredibly rude of me to approach a random family and start asking questions about their children. And you are being rude by asking about my family with no rapport or previous relationship established between us.

Some of you have had the audacity to continue to argue with me that it’s different, it’s just an animal — an object in your mind. This is a sure way for me to turn around, walk away, and never speak to you again. Your lack of respect for boundaries used to shock me; now it just exhausts me.

And getting openly offended that I don’t have the time and energy to speak to you shows that you are entitled, and centering yourself, instantly disqualifying you from being a considerate disability ally, or a good neighbor. I won’t deal with your indignation, or you calling ME rude for not wanting to answer. So that’s why I have written this article.

I’ve noticed this type of interaction is a frustrating part of the culture where I live in California. I once heard someone say that in New York people are kind but not nice, and in California people are nice but not kind, and having lived in both places I find a lot of truth in it. Just because you say something with a smile on your face does not mean you are owed a specific kind of response. Drop your defensiveness for a moment and try to be accountable. Ask yourself why you have such a desperate need for this information.

3) Inspiration Porn & Ableism

Common questions I hear are “was he born like that or did he have an accident?” or “how did he lose his leg?”, often accompanied by much gasping and sorry, sad faces. If I tell you he was born that way, then I see the pity for me cross your face as you imagine me getting stuck with an abnormal dog, and what a hero I am that I didn’t give him away?! If I tell you he was in an accident, then you replay the trauma of it in your mind, like a movie, and then, by comparison, feel satisfied that bad things are not happening to you. Or you feel inspired that if he can do this hike, so can you! Or you are about to praise me for what a good person I am for taking in such a grotesque and broken animal. Or “wow he gets around so well still!” These are not compliments; this is ableism.

Because disabled animals and people can only be burdens, right? Making accommodations for anyone is still seen as something “extra” and outside the norm. How interesting that obtaining the glasses on your face didn’t seem like a heroic and extraordinary effort. Or that you didn’t go out of your way to call the city planners and gush over how they placed those public benches that you needed to sit on because you couldn’t keep walking.

A quick note on intersectionality: both this dog and my previous one were born in foreign countries and transported to the USA via various animal rescue groups. My previous dog also had visible health problems which would elicit similar invasive questions. If I did give into the pressure of telling my dog’s stories, I often heard appallingly casual instances of unconcealed racism directed at their countries of origin and how they treat their animals — nevermind the animal abuse that happens here in the USA. My point is two-fold: 1) my existence in a woman-presenting body makes these interactions even more fraught, and 2) ableism often comes intertwined with sexism and racism. If you find yourself challenging ableism within yourself, you may have more work to do on other intersectional issues.

I also have disabilities. Because you cannot see them, you don’t know how they affect me. You expect everyone to be abled by default, and to you, disabled people are a tragic exception. Your attitude towards a visibly disabled animal reinforces that I, also, do not belong. I am so weary of being reminded multiple times per day that most people don’t place any importance on changing our society to make it more inclusive. It’s all surface level for you. A two-minute interaction, then you can go back to your day and never think about it again.

Disabled individuals do not exist for you. We have our whole and complete, often very happy, lives without you — lives that often involve exchange after exchange, like this, that lack any real connection.

Even if the topic of conversation is their disability, the conversation is almost always centered around your emotional “needs.” Stop being surprised that he is happy. Stop being surprised that he is smart (and so what if he wasn’t?). Stop making us relive the story for your amusement. And most especially, stop touching him without permission and trying to examine his stump!

Finally, Answers?

No, I will not recount details of how he lost his leg, or how he came to be part of my family. I will not describe whether he has difficulties walking, running, or jumping. I’m not going to tell you how expensive a prosthetic is and whether he needs it. I won’t tell you how he pees.

The only answer you need about what happened to his leg is: it went the same place as your manners. Into the bin.