Grown kids say dogonedest things
Our son has been pressing us to get a dog.
This is unusual, as it’s not his normal style to keep coming back about something again and again. He’s kind of laid back in most things and not one to insert himself into what his parents should do in their lives. Except for this.
It shouldn’t be a hard sell, really, as Bruce and I are dog people. I even gave him a Valentine’s Day card with a Dalmatian pictured on the front. We can both get misty at the abused doggie commercials we see on TV, make financial gifts to animal shelters, often make a point of watching the news on pick-of-the-litter days and interact with friends’ dogs as much as possible. We’ve had dogs most of our married life.
Our first dog, a Dalmatian named Bonnie, was the dog of our early years. We took her to obedience classes, tossed sticks endlessly for her to retrieve and I treated her as my first baby. When my two-legged babies came along, she’d sleep under their cribs, and she romped with them during their grade-school years.
Our second dog was a Viszla-Lab-whatever mix name Seltice. She was quirky – can you imagine a dog with her heritage being afraid of the water, to the point of trembling? – but she was a loved family member for nearly 16 years, the dog of our sons’ growing-up-and-leaving-the-house years. And then she was the only child in the house, happy to see her brothers when they came home but also content to live quietly with Mom and Dad.
I still choke up when I see a yellow Lab-like dog running around with a young boy in a park. We’ve been dogless since Seltice died.
When our oldest son was home for a visit last fall, he observed that his father could use a walking buddy, especially during the cold-weather season when his workload is light, and that his mother could benefit from taking her turn walking a dog as well. And having that extra being in the house to care for and receive affection from would be good for us both.
He also noted that we’ve gotten very attached to our loveseat recliner and park in it much more than is probably good for us. He understands the recliner’s appeal. When sitting next to me for a nice conversation one afternoon, he acknowledged how “this thing can suck the will to move right out of you.” He then made the pronouncement: “Burn the chair. Get a dog.”
And he’s been repeating the message ever since. We threw out all the usual defenses. Dad and I can’t agree on fencing the yard. Not so sure about this electric fence thing, as the yard (and dog) would still be vulnerable to other dogs or coyotes. It’s so convenient not to have to rush home to take a dog out. It’s so easy now to just pick up and leave town at will without dog arrangements having to be made. It’s nice to sleep a little longer in the morning if I feel like it without a cold nose reminding me there are others to tend to.
We’ve talked about fostering a dog, but we know we’d get instantly attached and could probably never let one go once we got to know it. I know also that shelters can always use volunteers to walk or socialize animals, but that doesn’t solve the problem of needing that extra heartbeat in the home.
Bruce and I know there’s an empty space in our family that is shaped like a dog. We know it. Our sons know it. Our friends know it. We have within us a deep longing for a dog. And yet …
I thought I had the perfect answer to our son’s well-intended full-court press when I said that I wasn’t sure I could manage walking a dog as I had before without being pulled down.
“Downsize your dog,” came the answer. I hate it when he blows a hole in my logic.
Yes, surely we’ve gotten too complacent, too comfortable in our lives. But I guess here’s what it comes down to. Bruce asked the question when we were having the dog talk again:
“You know what’s wrong with dogs?”
“No,” I said.
“They die.”