I’m not a dog mom
It incites me when a woman identifies as a “dog mom” or refers to her pup as her “ four-legged kid” or even worse, “fur baby.” These are a different breed of women, you know? As a mom to two, small humans, the definition of mother holds more weight. And to be fair, I was never really a dog person to begin with.
Sure, we had dogs while growing up. But when they died, I didn’t grieve the way my mom and brother did. They would sob — sometimes for days — while I just went about my day like normal. To me, dogs were work: feeding, walking, bathing, potty training and disciplining. Dogs also meant getting licked, being covered in dog hair, picking up poop and having your favorite pair of heels chewed to shreds.
Human children of course, are a lot of work, too. But I helped create them and pushed them out of my body — they’re literally a part of me. My job is to raise them into productive and caring members of society. Plus, they are people with thoughts and feelings and ideas. They talk and talk back. They ask questions and ask for things.
And you know what my little people asked for last year? A dog. I was resistant, but am widely known to have trouble saying no. My husband was in the pro-dog camp, too, so I was outnumbered. Plus, it was the beginning of the pandemic so we did what everyone seemed to be doing.
My husband found him at a shelter, online. Duke and his littermates were abandoned in a field and rescued, so we’re not sure what breed he is. But he’s big, golden and sweet natured. Potty training was a breeze and he thinks my 5-year-old and 2-year-old are his siblings. My son wrestles, chases and snuggles Duke, while my daughter open-mouth kisses him, feeds him her food, drinks out of his water bowl and locks the two of them in his kennel.
I, too, couldn’t help falling in love with him. Because of the pandemic, I’ve been working from home for over a year. Duke has become like my coworker and we’ve found ourselves in a routine. Every morning, before work, we drop my son off at preschool and then go on a four-mile run. When we get home, he naps on my feet while I work. And just like my kids, he follows me to the bathroom and basically anywhere I go in the house. When school is out, Duke rides along to pick up the kids. On the weekends, we go to the dog park or take him on a family hike.
And in the odd instance we all leave the house and can’t take Duke, I turn on Dog TV so he doesn’t get lonely. I have become that person.
A few weeks ago, we took a family vacation to Mexico. We couldn’t take Duke and had to board him at a local pet resort. I was anxious about how he’d do away from us. Duke turned one-year-old in February and has only really been in our house, with us. To ease my anxiety and Duke’s potential anxiety, the vet prescribed him Trazodone.
For his stay, we dosed him, packed his favorite toys, blanket and treats and dropped him off. My husband declined the option to FaceTime with Duke while we were away, which was probably smart. In the past, I’d FaceTime my kids while my husband and I were on vacation and they’d bawl and I’d feel like shit. Lesson learned.
We were away three nights and each morning when my 2-year-old daughter woke up she’d look at me and ask, “Dukey?” When we got home, my husband dropped me and the kids off to unpack, while he went to pick Duke up. Ten minutes later, an excited Duke ran into the house and peed on my foot. I think it was out of excitement, but he could have been being passive aggressive.
Overall, he did OK at the pet resort, they said. He had some separation anxiety and a bout of anxiety-induced diarrhea, but played well with the other dogs and fell into a groove around day two.
I’m supposed to be returning to work in-person sometime in July. I’m not stressed about wearing real pants, putting on makeup, combing my hair or finding my deodorant. I haven’t even thought about the commute or packing a lunch. I’m focused on Duke. Will he miss me, not get enough exercise and fall into a depression? I ask my husband, “Do you think Duke is happy?”
“Meghan,” he says, “the dog isn’t abandoned in a field in the desert. He’s happy.” And then he tells me, “God, getting a dog has changed you more than motherhood did.”
I believe him. But I still refuse to call myself a dog mom.
