Knausgaard on Dogs (The New Yorker)

Dogs have never interested me, perhaps because we didn’t have a dog when I was growing up, and because I was afraid of those there were in the neighborhood, even of Alex, the good-natured and kindly golden retriever that belonged to the Kanestrøms and followed the children of the family when it had to but obviously preferred their father, whom I often saw it gazing up at with a devoted and expectant look, tail wagging. The problem was when I encountered it alone, for then it barked at me, and I couldn’t handle those barks, they overruled everything I knew about the dog’s temperament, and I would remain standing on the gravel path in front of the house, unable to walk past it and ring the bell...The New Yorker 


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