From Where I Sit

I was having an impromptu dinner with my cousins the other night and we were discussing their latest venture . . . a new puppy and how they were trying to train her to behave. They had a comfortable cage set up in the living room where Molly spends her time when they are not home, and at night to sleep. She is also summoned to the cage when she misbehaves. There are little toys and a 'blankie' in there to keep her comfortable. She also has a bigger cage outdoors for her to spend time in when the weather permits. She is a black “Labradoodle” with some chocolate markings and the face of an old man. She’s spunky, smart and determined to be a part of this family no matter what it takes. The conversation took a turn when they both admitted that they were spending more time trying to raise this puppy right than they probably did with their own children.
Isn’t it funny that when we reach a certain stage after the kids have left and we are awaiting our grandchildren, we take on the duties of pet ownership with a vengeance? They bought some books about training dogs and they are trying their best to follow the rules. 'Mom' of course is a little more focused than 'Dad' is, but then I guess she would most likely be the one to clean up the mess and suffer the emotional blows should their puppy refuse to obey the rules. In fact, she seemed the most disgusted with Molly when she began to beg at the table while we were eating. She blamed the behavior on her children who must have been feeding Molly under the table when they were home for Mother’s Day. Her own children had undermined her again in their quest to keep this new family member from being the perfect child they never had.
My dog, Rita, is about three years old and I must admit she is as quirky as the kids that I raised are. I never bought any books to tell me how to raise any of my pets, but then I can’t remember following any written rules about my kids either. I keep telling my daughter-in-law that no matter what she reads or how hard she tries, it’s usually good instincts and an innate sense of survival that will ultimately win out in the end. When my family gets together and we all start reminiscing about raising children I am usually the brunt of the jokes about 'what not to do' or 'how not to act' when you are a parent. Then my two boys step up to the plate and announce that if it wasn’t for all the experiences they had growing up with a mother like me, they would not be able to navigate the emotional waters of the women in their lives. They are right. They have seen it all … thanks to me.
The other night, or should I say very early morning, I was awakened by my wonderful dog, Rita. She has a doggie door so she can go out whenever she likes . . . a convenience more for me than for her. When the weather warms up she enjoys sleeping outside in an old lazy boy. When the police came knocking on my door announcing that someone had called complaining about her barking I was embarrassed and profusely apologetic about the disturbance. Most of all though, I was annoyed and irritated that she was unaware of the people in the neighborhood who were trying to sleep. All I can figure out is that she is now approaching her 'teenage years' and rebelling against the hand that feeds her. Maybe she thought I needed protection from a raccoon or a rabbit, but either way, she is now grounded until she learns how to behave. It’s too late for a book and I’m too old to lose a night’s sleep because of her antics. It’s back to the drawing board for us.

~ Karen Balice Gregory
kgregory@ioniaschools.org