My oldest child is 30, my second,
17, and my youngest, 15. This means I’ve spent three decades getting my kids to
the age of 15. Over the course of those many years, we’ve had two cats,
multiple hamsters, mice, goldfish, a canary, walking sticks, two bunnies, a dog
plus a number of temporary guests, including chickens, guinea pigs and a
turtle. I’ve cleaned fish bowls, bird
cages and litter boxes; scoured alleys for walking- stick-food, a.k.a. blackberry leaves in rain and
snow; walked both bunnies and a dog on leash.
These facts are significant because truth-be-told, I am not a pet person. In particular, I am not a dog person. This is what some might call ‘dangerous writing’, particularly in Portland, Ore., where everyone has a dog and everyone loves their dog. That is not me. I’m the demographic who does not want the daily duty of caring for a dog. I don’t want weekend get-aways cancelled, curtailed or expensed by a dog. At this stage of my life, I want to write and do art and travel and have freedom from responsibility.
These facts are significant because truth-be-told, I am not a pet person. In particular, I am not a dog person. This is what some might call ‘dangerous writing’, particularly in Portland, Ore., where everyone has a dog and everyone loves their dog. That is not me. I’m the demographic who does not want the daily duty of caring for a dog. I don’t want weekend get-aways cancelled, curtailed or expensed by a dog. At this stage of my life, I want to write and do art and travel and have freedom from responsibility.
I made my non-desire for a dog
clear when our girls began their letter-begging campaign to get a Yorkie-Poo two
and a half years ago. I told Ron and I explained to our girls: “I do not want a
dog. If we get a dog, this will be your responsibility,
not mine.”
And so it goes. Within a day of the girls’ campaign, we got a sweet spirited Yorkie- Poo, Tinkerbell. And over the past two and a half years, I’ve fed, bathed, walked, and cleaned up after her. Ron’s done his share of walking, but the teens have fallen short in stepping up to the daily routines. Despite constant reminders, they’ve dropped the ball. As their schedules get busier, their commitment to their beloved pet has decreased.
I always believe the universe is trying to teach me something. So for two and a half years, I’ve tried hard to make doggie an essential part of my life. “You need to open up and embrace her,” I’ve told myself as I worked at finding enjoyment in the necessary chores. I especially enjoyed the end of our walks where I’d set her loose to run the last block home: “Go Tinker go, run like the wind,” I’d call and she’d race home, her ears flapping, a joyful sight.
My resentment, however, has increased over the months and years as the bulk of the responsibility has landed on me. We’ve made threats to find her a new home but never carried through because, well, who wants to be the bad guy, and be responsible for taking away your children's pet?
When my most recent bout of chemo-mood struck after last treatment and I had my Tourette’s outburst, I realized: Embracing this little creature, who is lying on the couch almost depressed, is not what the universe is telling me after all. The universe is telling me: Gail, set some limits.
And so, with the help of a friend, we found a new home for our dog. She now lives on a half-acre with a dog door and a new owner who recently lost her beloved pet, someone who wants a sweet doggie as part of her family. My hope is she’ll have a magical life.
And so it goes. Within a day of the girls’ campaign, we got a sweet spirited Yorkie- Poo, Tinkerbell. And over the past two and a half years, I’ve fed, bathed, walked, and cleaned up after her. Ron’s done his share of walking, but the teens have fallen short in stepping up to the daily routines. Despite constant reminders, they’ve dropped the ball. As their schedules get busier, their commitment to their beloved pet has decreased.
I always believe the universe is trying to teach me something. So for two and a half years, I’ve tried hard to make doggie an essential part of my life. “You need to open up and embrace her,” I’ve told myself as I worked at finding enjoyment in the necessary chores. I especially enjoyed the end of our walks where I’d set her loose to run the last block home: “Go Tinker go, run like the wind,” I’d call and she’d race home, her ears flapping, a joyful sight.
My resentment, however, has increased over the months and years as the bulk of the responsibility has landed on me. We’ve made threats to find her a new home but never carried through because, well, who wants to be the bad guy, and be responsible for taking away your children's pet?
When my most recent bout of chemo-mood struck after last treatment and I had my Tourette’s outburst, I realized: Embracing this little creature, who is lying on the couch almost depressed, is not what the universe is telling me after all. The universe is telling me: Gail, set some limits.
And so, with the help of a friend, we found a new home for our dog. She now lives on a half-acre with a dog door and a new owner who recently lost her beloved pet, someone who wants a sweet doggie as part of her family. My hope is she’ll have a magical life.
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