Dog Duty

Sunday we adopted a dog from the city pound. The children are eager to feed and walk him and earnest in their analysis of his every gesture. Tom and I, on the other hand, are just hoping this isn’t a huge mistake.

It took years of begging on Megan’s part to get us to even seriously consider a dog. Then we had months of discussion until every family member was willing. I myself have vacillated quite a bit. Late last year I thought I’d be ready after my mom died, but then when she did, I realized I had more freedom of movement that I’d had in a decade, which I wasn’t ready to give it up. Then, this summer I started feeling open to the idea of a dog. I think it was when Megan said, “I want a best friend to tell all my secrets to” with such sincerity that I couldn’t forget my own childhood dog, who throughout adolescence was the family member I felt closest to. Tom was still resistant and asked the kids lots of questions about who was going to do what. Finally, I think he felt outnumbered. When Tom started looking up doggy pictures on the Internet, I knew we were on our way.

It was fun visiting the two biggest pounds in our area and seeing my children’s enthusiasm and tenderness. Megan and Luke were particularly taken with a medium sized brown mutt who is thought to be part pit bull terrier. He had a piece of cloth over a shaved part of his leg, and Luke was concerned that no one else would want him. I was concerned about the pit bull part (despite everyone’s assurances that it’s the training, not the breed, that matters), and at the last minute tried to steer them toward a smaller mutt at the SPCA. Luke, however, was adamant. He had understood that the city pound kills the dogs they can’t find homes for, whereas the SPCA does not. That was hard to argue with.

But Thursday night, just after I signed the adoption papers, I was suddenly hit with regret and fear. I felt like crying, knowing I was giving up a little of the freedom I’ve been able to reclaim as the kids have gotten older. Sure the kids will put his food out, and after he’s trained, they’ll be able to walk him. But I’m the one who is going to have to make sure the dog gets walked sometime during the day. I’m the one who is going to make a dog-care plan when we go away for the weekend. I’m the one who’s going to feel responsible. During the two days we were waiting to be approved for the adoption, I wondered if there was a way I could get out of it without breaking my children’s little hearts. Finally a neighbor said, “You won’t regret anything you do that will be good for your kids.” That helped.

The morning before we went to get the dog, I told Megan and Luke they wouldn’t be able to hit each other any more because it might upset the dog. I explained that he might want to protect the person getting hit and could bite the hitter. So they laughingly hit each other all the way home from Quaker meeting, celebrating their last chance to fight in the car.

So far I have to say it has worked. We’ve had two days of family peace, and Luke hasn’t complained once about his job as poop-picker-upper. Megan shines in the role of nurturer, and Tom even offered to take the dog running this morning. For my part, I still feel uneasy about the new responsibility, but I feel reassured that we got a great dog. He sits quietly in his crate during dinner, and after a little barking the first night, he was quiet all last night. He is playful, but not hyper. He’s the color of a potato, so we named him Spud.