The Eyes Have ItJanuary 23, 2010 at 8:07 pm | Posted in The Pups | 2 Comments
We have dogs. Two. A wire-haired mutt straight out of every Disney movie you’ve ever seen and a gigantic black dog-pony our vet calls a Lab. They get the shaft. Often. Usually.
Take this blog. The only mention I’ve made of them? Getting bombarded by miniature cars/trucks/strollers and being the repository for all imperfect Cheerios. (Well, I guess the Cheerios gig is a pretty good one.)
Takes a Lickin’ …
But still. We wondered how our dogs would do when we had kids. We even took a class on smoothing over the adjustment. (Bring poopy diapers home from the hospital for your dogs to sniff? Oh, we totally did that.) And I have to say, our dogs have risen to the challenge.
They get climbed on. They get chased. They get dressed up like princesses. But they don’t bite. They don’t snap. They don’t bark. They take it. And take it. And take it. Their one recourse: sad, sad eyes that send subliminal messages like, “Get me a treat” and “You’re gonna scratch my ears for this later.”
What’s your Return Policy?
Once, they lived high on the hog. They slept on the couch, and they slept in the bed. They got walked. Every day. We regularly filled their Kong balls with peanut butter.
Then we brought Lollipop home from the hospital. Priority numero uno became sleep. We kicked the dogs off the couch. We kicked them out of our bed. We skipped walks for desperate snatches of shut-eye. And perhaps gravest of all, in our permanent state of tiredness, we forgot to buy more peanut butter. High on the hog became very, very low on the totem pole.
About this demotion, they (and those sad, sad eyes) are clear. They don’t like it. But they will continue to tolerate it. Because — ever-optimistic in that inspiring way that only dogs are — they have hope. Hope that, one day, we’ll bring home another freakin’ jar of Skippy.