Some months ago I was invited to a birthday party with my daughters. Their friend — who often comes to our home to play — was celebrating her fifth birthday. The venue was within walking distance, so we set off. Minutes after entering the building I lost my calm: there was a dog at the party.
I became painfully uneasy and could no longer join in relaxed conversation with the other parents. My heart raced and I felt very uncomfortable. Each time the dog walked past I jumped, climbed onto chairs, and did all sorts of odd things because of my fear.
Fear is a prison. It embarrasses you and steals your peace.
The dog’s owner noticed my distress and tried to keep the dog in a fixed spot so I could feel free, but the animal resisted. The owner had to repeatedly hold the dog in place and finally tied it to a chair for the rest of the party.
When it was time for us to leave, the owner released the dog. We went outside and the dog followed. My older daughter became frightened and, despite my repeated pleas — “Do not run! Do not run!” — she started to run. The dog ran too. I began running, and both of my girls ran. We were all screaming and crying while the dog ran with us.
The commotion drew neighbours out of their homes. One kind woman comforted my younger daughter while I stood in the middle of the scene, feeling frantic and wondering where my eldest had gone.
The dog’s owner eventually called the animal back, and once it left I felt my peace return.
Over the years I have made many dramas because of dogs. As a student conducting research, I once approached a house to leave a questionnaire and was met by a dog at the gate. I hurried through the already open door and found myself in the homeowners’ living room before they appeared — an awkward moment I’m thankful didn’t escalate.
A few months ago I ran so fast from a dog that a shoe flew off my foot. Some of the worst days were while I was pregnant with my first child in Cameroon. I had to walk in the early morning to catch a taxi for antenatal classes and neighbourhood dogs, often left to roam at night, would intercept the route. Those walks involved constantly stopping to let a dog pass or hurriedly trying to get away from one that seemed aggressive.
I am the person who crosses to the other side of the street at the sight of an approaching dog. Cynophobia is real for me.
Every day I live with this fear because many neighbours keep dogs and spend a lot of time outdoors with them. To my neighbours they are pets; to me they are terrors.
Before I leave the house I look through the window to check for dogs. If none are in view, I go out. If a dog is nearby I stay inside until it’s gone.
It is embarrassing and I feel ashamed that I cannot show my daughters how to be brave in the face of fear. They know about my anxiety and, along with my husband, sometimes tease me about it.
I constantly imagine dogs running toward me to bite, and their barking doubles my fear. The sound of a dog barking fills me with dread.
Interestingly, I have never been bitten. My fear is not born from a single traumatic bite but seems to come from something deeper than direct experience.
My parents once kept a dog named Clash; I avoided him completely. He was usually chained outside and I would push food to him from a distance. On days my brothers forgot to secure him, I would be furious — not proud of that reaction, but honest about it.
I have scolded myself many times for this fear. I have quoted scripture and reminded myself that, as a child of God, I have dominion and should not be trapped by irrational fears. Yet every time I see a dog all those affirmations slip away. The terror I feel at the sight of a four-legged animal is difficult to put into words.
I need deliverance from this fear. I would like to be able to touch and play with dogs like other people do, or at least act normally when one is present. I have tried searching online for ways to overcome cynophobia, but the articles I found made me even more anxious by focusing on preventing bites.
I once let a neighbour’s dog sniff me as an introduction, and that brief contact was the closest I’ve come to deliberately getting acquainted. I have planned more such sessions but never followed through.
Why do I fear dogs so much? I genuinely want to be free of this fear. Do you have tips for staying safe and calm when a dog is nearby? Do you fear dogs too, and how do you handle encounters? I would love to hear your experiences and advice.
Meanwhile, I look forward to the day of ultimate peace when none of these fears will trouble me.
