Let me preface this by saying I am not and have never been what one would call a dog lover. I prefer not to find my slippers chewed up and dislike the idea of stepping in doggy doo when walking barefoot in the backyard.
So when the family decided two years ago that we needed to have a puppy, I protested. Actually, I think it’s safer to say that I threw a fit. I argued that having a dog was a major responsibility and it would change our ability to go out of town for a day or weekend.
My wife countered that it would be good for our children to have the responsibility of caring for an animal. My children gave the puppy-dog eyes and “pleeeease Daddy” that all children seem to perfect to push just the right buttons.
At that time, I felt such a major decision needed extensive research and planning. I also called for a family vote on the subject. I was outvoted 3-2 (since I am the only male in the household, I felt it was only fair that my vote should count twice and even then it failed.)
Once the animal arrived, I made several ultimatums when it came to the care of said animal. First, I figured if the children wanted the experience of having a puppy, then they needed to be heavily involved in the care of it. I was determined this would not be one of those times where once the newness wore off, the children would lose interest in the animal. For the most part, our girls have responded admirably.
Secondly, I stated I would not, under any circumstances, be responsible for caring for the dog on my own. I was steadfast on this one, ensuring my wife understood that she would not be leaving the dog home alone with me for any extended period of time. Nope, not happening.
That manifesto held up well, until this past weekend when my wife asked if I minded that she and the girls go visit her mother, sister and new baby. Since there was not enough room for everyone overnight, that left me — and the dog — home. So much for that manifesto. Some where down on the coast my buddy Dan is saying, “I told you this would happen.”
Friday evening and Saturday were fairly mellow. The dog sat on the back of the couch, staring forlornly out the window waiting for her “mother” to come home. You see, this dog, which was supposed to be for the children, is attached to my wife’s hip. If she gets up to go the kitchen, the dog follows. And when she is resting on the chair, the dog is typically curled up on her lap or somewhere close by.
So with the wife and kids gone for the weekend, the dog seemed a bit out of sorts. It wouldn’t sit still, changing its position every five minutes or so. It moped around with, well puppy dog eyes, looking at me every 10 minutes or so as if to say, “Great, I’m stuck here with you.”
For the most part, it was a rather laid back weekend, except for the sudden barking whenever someone walked by the house or seeing a bird or squirrel in the front yard. Those sudden startles, mixed in with watching an exciting movie didn’t exactly go well together.
By Saturday evening, the dog decided it wanted to nap on my lap like a cat. It wasn’t terrible, I will admit. On Sunday, however, just when I was thinking, ‘Hey, this wasn’t so bad,’ the dog decided it was the perfect time to regurgitate all over the couch. And just like that, I was back to my original line of thinking. Fortunately for all of us, the family returned home later that day and my time of “doggy daycare” had come to an end — until the next time they decide to go visit of course.
Joseph Cyr is a staff writer for the Houlton Pioneer Times. His opinions are his own and do not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper. He can be reached at pioneertimes@nepublish.com or 532-2281.
