Yes, I have become one of those people who took the phrase "adopting a dog" literally. When I'm not calling him by his given name (Monty) or his primary nickname (Little Dog or Little Tiny Dog, depending on my mood), I call him Baby Dog. He actually responds to that name, too, along with Bark-Faced Baby Boy.
And yes, my husband and I let our dog get away with virtual murder. He jumps up on every guest who enters our home, and he jumps up on us when we've left him alone for even a few minutes. One of the two of us holds his bone so he can chew on it while we're watching TV. He occupies the center of our bed, sometimes curling up so tight against my stomach so that I think: This must be sorta what it feels like to have a baby pressing on your bladder in the latter months of pregnancy. (That may be the insanity talking, but still ...)
I know it's not the same to have a dog as to have a baby, but when I'm listening to my baby-bearing friends talk about their wee miracles, I have to restrain myself from saying, "My puppy does that too!"
I know he's not a baby. He's a dog. But here's my defense:
I don't have a baby to brag about, so I brag about my dog. In many ways, raising a puppy doesn't seem all that different from taking care of a regular kid. I've cleaned up shit, pee and vomit. I've stayed up all night with him when he was sick. I've taken a gazillion photos of every last cute thing Monty does: his expanding size, his first haircut, him with his favorite toy, him curling up on the couch with my husband. I even saved some of his baby teeth. The major difference seems to be timing. I had to get up every two or three hours to attend to puppy's needs for only a month or two, and babies need that kind of attention for much longer.
Also, Monty doesn't talk back. He's got a sassy little face, but I'll never have to hear him say the words, "I hate you, Mom! You're so mean!"
So, you might say, just get on with it and have a baby already. Great advice, and how I would like to take it. You'd think that after I've been off birth control for more than two years, a pregnancy would just have happened already. I spent my entire 20s trying to prevent an unplanned pregnancy, because who wants a baby when you've got a busy social calendar? But when you've been married for almost seven years, your friends, your parents, your siblings and everyone else who even tangentially knows you probably wonder if you're just going to settle for the dog. (Monty did receive a Valentine's Day card from his "grandparents" addressed to their "grandpuppy." Mike and I buy "from the dog" cards for each other on holidays. Yeah, it's pretty pathetic.)
I've come to conclude that getting knocked up is very similar to getting ID'd for liquor. After you turn 21, stores and bars stop carding you for booze, and you think: Damn, I could have been getting away with this for a LONG time now! I was probably ripe for the ovular picking in my 20s, and now that I'm almost 34, I'm thinking that I'm going to have put a lot more effort into this project -- taking my temperature, timing sex with ovulation, even (ack!) delving into fertility treatment.
Which leads me to my second point ...
I think parents should just admit that they envy my relationship with my pet. After all, I get to sleep through the night. Mike and I still go out whenever we please for dinner or a movie or whatever, without having to hire a sitter. We can leave for the weekend, and Monty will happily go next door to live with my neighbors and their dog. If the dog drives me crazy, I can leave the house or put him in his crate. Pull that shit with your baby, and the Department of Children and Family Services starts getting interested in your parenting methods.
The upshot is, I don't have a baby. Yet. All I have is this dog. Maybe when I have an actual baby of my own, I'll stop thinking of this small animal as my child and start thinking of him as just a pet. But somehow I doubt I'll ever drop the "Baby Dog" nickname.
I guess that's just the kind of crazy I am.
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3 comments:
you forgot to mention that having a dog baby also alleviates the constant conversations you are obliged to have with dozens of strangers every single day. conversations that are just Q&A sessions and are identical from one to the next. How old is your baby? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it your first? what a good baby! what a beautiful baby! Are you getting any sleep? Is she sleeping much? Are you breastfeeding?
except dog people all ask those kinds of questions of each other: oh, what a beautiful dog! what breed is she? oh, it's a he? the fluffy fur threw me off (yes, because fluffy little dogs self-generate, thus creating the need for only female members of the breed).
but who am i kidding? all of us who walk our dogs do it mostly for exercise but also to show off our beloved pooches ...
addendum: parents, at least you don't have to take your actual baby outside in the pouring rain so she can do her business. monty hates being wet, so a trip outside in the rain involves picking him up, holding an umbrella over him while he finds a good spot to go, then wiping his feet with a towel when we come back inside. makes me (almost) miss the snow!
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