Spoiling Our Dog September 2, 2022
My husband often accuses me of spoiling our dog. He says this because I allow him to sleep on my feet and lick my hands and sometimes I give him a treat just because I feel like giving him a treat. But here’s the thing: I may get more out of Lincoln being a foot warmer and his affectionate kisses and seeing his joy from getting a random cookie than Lincoln does.[1]
Lincoln’s whole job, his purpose, his raison d’etre is to be a receptacle for the love I have to give. He is never going to need the discipline my other children are going to need in order to function in society and get a job to be productive members of the community. Nope, he just has to be cute, poop outside[2], and let me pet him when I’m having a bad day.
This dog’s purpose has now been magnified. I have always said that my job as a parent of human children is to ensure that if something were to happen to me, my children would be sad, but otherwise fully functional. What I mean is that they would mourn my loss, but there wouldn’t be any daily tasks they rely on me for. They’d know how to manage their own money, call a plumber if the sink goes on the fritz, get their car towed to the mechanics, deal with insurance and doctors, and generally not be frightened of the world without their Mommy holding their hand. They may want their Mommy to hold their hand, but they shouldn’t strictly need it. I want them to have the confidence to be independent operators.
Unfortunately, I may have done that job a little too well. My son went off to college 800 miles to the west of me. He wasn’t running away from me – the Shepherd School of Music at Rice University was the best program for what he wanted and they offered him a heck of a scholarship. I miss him terribly even though I hear from him most days, even if it’s just a two word text. Still, he’s functioning well. I have no idea when he goes to the doctor or what’s in his bank account. He lives in an apartment and somehow keeps the lights on without my involvement. As it should be.
And now, my daughter decided to go off to college 800 miles north of me. I don’t know what it is about that particular distance, but that’s where they landed. She’s at Bryn Mawr, one of the premier women’s colleges in the country, her dream school, and now she’s living her dream. She’s only been gone 10 days, but so far so independent. No panicky phone calls about how to do stuff, just a few texts telling me what she’s already done.
Sometimes, you can work yourself out of a job.
But not Lincoln. I’m
used to having two human children, a husband, AND a dog upon which to heap my
affection and feed unnecessary food to.
Now, it’s the husband and the dog, and the dog has a better
attitude. He exhibits less road rage and
doesn’t complain if what I’m watching on television doesn’t have
explosions.
So am I spoiling our dog? Maybe.
Depends on what you mean by spoiling.
If by spoiling our dog you mean heaping great big piles of love on him
regardless of merit and not complaining when clouds of white dog hair cling to
all my black clothes? Then yes, he has
been spoiled.
[1] Food, in case you didn’t know, or, more specifically, feeding people, is my love language. If I love you, I will give you a cookie. Or a tray of baked ziti. Or maybe a pot of soup. At the very least, a recipe.
[2] My other children are also cute, but they poop inside.
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Lori B. Duff is an award-winning author who practices law on the side. Her latest book, “If You Did What I Asked in the First Place” was awarded the Gold Medal for humor in the Foreword INDIES awards in 2019. You can follow her on Twitter at @LoriBDuff and on Facebook. For more blogs written by Lori, click here. For more information about Lori in general, click here. If you want Lori to do your writing for you, click here. If you want Lori to help you market your book, click here.
Spoiling Our Dog
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