Connor and Helen would love a dog. Occasionally, I start to think maybe my home needs a dog. Then, I remind myself that dogs shed, need nearly as much attention as a child, and jump on the counters to snatch food. I, most definitely, do not need a dog.
My sister, who adores dogs, once found herself at her home, completely exhausted from dealing with two very young children. She decided to treat herself to a steak dinner after she had settled the two children into bed. Unfortunately for her, her basset hound decided it was more deserving of the dinner than she was, and the basset was also quicker. This pretty much sums up dogs for me.
But…just in case I was wrong about myself not wanting a dog, I decided to answer an ad looking for a dogsitter for an old, blind dog. This dog seemed perfect for my family since she would no doubt, not be a high energy, high demand dog. The dog came to live with us about three weeks ago. My babysitter was completely thrilled at the opportunity. She told me that she had once investigated getting a puppy but since it would be very difficult for her to take that puppy back to Sweden with her when she moved back home, she decided not to get it. I almost had a heart attack right there, and all I could think of was “do you not actually know me?” because I’m pretty sure I would never allow a dog to live in my home.
After the dog’s arrival, she spent a couple of days sitting on our screened in porch in the scorching heat. I think she was waiting for her family to come back for her. Then, she gave in and decided she was stuck with us, so she spent the next several days trying to figure out where to sleep. If the kids slept upstairs, she slept upstairs with our babysitter. If the kids slept in the basement (which they did first, because they thought it would be fun and later, because we had no power for 30 hours and their second floor bedroom was just not an option), she slept outside the basement door (when there was no power), or outside my door (when there was power). She refused to go upstairs with the babysitter until Ed and I were home for the evening, which is a pretty nice trait.
In her short time with us, the dog scored one extra breakfast (Helen’s French toast) and helped herself to a few verboten licks of dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She also spread tuna pasta sauce on the playroom rug when Ed left our swim bag there as he went to brush the kids’ teeth. Ed was mad at the dog. I was mad at Ed.
And, while I’m glad we had the opportunity to take care of a dog, I also reaffirmed for myself that I’m not a dog person. The kids had great fun with the dog. The babysitter enjoyed the dog a lot. I don’t think Ed had an opinion on the dog except he was mad about the mess of the pasta sauce and having to remake Helen’s breakfast.
For the record, a dog can eat a piece of French toast in two bites. I hope my sister’s dog savored her treat a few bites longer than that.
Elaine
