Thursday, October 12, 2006
Our second baby
The dog prefers baby food. The baby prefers kibble. Who am I to argue? They are remarkably alike (the dog and baby). Both crawl around on all fours, chew on squeaky toys, neither are potty trained, both chase the cats around the house and have a strange dislike for the mailman.
Yesterday Froggy and I came home to find a large pee pee puddle on the floor, a cat turd on the sofa (Buddy had helped himself to a little afternoon snack), and Froggy's diapers (clean ones, still in the bag) scattered throughout the living room. I was not sympathetic and muttered something about the pound or going to live on a farm in Iowa. Buddy has separation anxiety when the baby is not with him. I explained that I was the one who gave birth to her, but he claims he is her 'dog parent.' - much like a godparent. He says it isn't a coincidence 'god' is 'dog' spelled backwards. Again, who am I to argue.
Before you feel too bad for the mut, listen to his very privileged life. In the morning, he gets a walk to the park, where he chases squirrels and crow. Then he comes back to munch on babyfood that falls from the high chair. In the afternoon, he goes for an hour walk around the neighborhood and has more time at the park to chase squirrels. I work from home, so he is rarely alone. And if the weather is cool, he gets to run errands with us. No, no, this is not the life of starving Jack London wolf, foraging for food in the barren snow-laden lands of an Alaskan tundra. He is spoiled, spoiled, spoiled. And still he eats poo and pees on the floor. It's just a good thing I have nothing better to do with my day than wash the sofa covers, and mop up puddles.