The Dog Thing

When you marry, people always start to ask, "So, when are you going to have kids?" When you have a boy, people always start to ask, "So, when are you going to get him a dog?" I don't particularly like either question but I especially loath the second. The first is intrusive but the second question always seems to come dressed as a duty, as part and parcel of electing to have a boy. A guilt thing. That, and it always seems to include absolute disregard for the fact that a dog-- like a boy--  is a living, breathing, eating, crapping creature and-- like a boy-- requires your attention.

Being a blogger myself, I have the good fortune of enjoying close relationships with some of the most celebrated bloggers on the Internet. In a post yesterday, my very close personal friend and colleague, the famous Short Jewish Gal, devoted several paragraphs herself to this subject. For that I thank her and have shamelessly lifted the subject. But for good reason: We struggle with the subject of dog ownership.

The problem on our end is that Ev had a very close relationship with his grandparent's dog, a dog that passed on about 6 months ago. Everyone seems to assume we are going to replace that dog. We even wonder if we should replace that dog. His pediatrician thinks we should replace that dog! 

Now, as my Dad used to say: I like dogs-- as long as they belong to someone else and stay out of my yard. Tam and I have gotten as close as contacting breeders but remain enrolled in the "no dog" school of thought. Heartless? No. Selfish? Yes. But here's the rub: Having a dog should be like having another member of the family. A member who will never be able to feed himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, or do any of the necessary functions to promote life and health other than breath, eat, drink, and eliminate.

When we had a place in Chicago it used to be fun to watch people out on the beach in the morning with their dogs. They would be throwing balls or sticks for the dogs. Or they would be walking along the water's edge like an illustration for a piece of feel good emotional crap from the 70's. Then came winter. Those same people would be out in the blowing freezing cold, waiting for those same dogs to do their business so they could collect the frozen little turds and be on their way back home where, hopefully, their ears, fingers, and toes would re-vascularize and survive the frigid assault. And all the while the dog seems oblivious to both the weather and the plight of the human companion.

Maybe this summer we'll start to waffle on the subject once again but, for now, it's too damn cold to own a dog.