Sad Dog

Here is the sad truth:  I am a bad mother to my dog.  Although I love her dearly, I have come to take her for granted and often realize that many days have passed without my giving her the love-fest of petting and scratching that she sorely deserves.  I can handle tossing out a scoop of kibble twice a day (though my husband is the prime animal-feeder in our household).  But I can’t seem to muster the energy to nurture any more dependent creatures.

The cats?  They’re impervious to neglect.  But I fear that the dog is pining for lack of love and may even move around the corner to our neighbors’ house, where 3 eager kids shower her with attention.  Snuggling, belly-scratching, walking, grooming– Lucca had a canine vacation there for a week while we took our trip up to Maine, and now she knows how good life can be.  

Wracked with guilt, I remember how central she was to my world in the early years.  She came everywhere with me– I would drive with her head in my lap as she stretched out across the bench seat of my Toyota pick-up.  I brought her with me on trips and to work (landscaping or coaching), and she was my training partner for every hike, run, ski, or swim.  

It was love at first lick when I first brought her home as a silky, wriggling, 10-week old puppy who loved to curl up and sleep on people’s feet.  There you’d be, standing at the sink doing the dishes, and this warm furry body would snuggle on your feet.  Irresistible

Since those days (almost a decade ago), we’ve all gotten older, lamer, smellier, and grayer.  Our once-silky puppy fur is coarse and sometimes oily.  When I first saw the gray hairs on Lucca’s muzzle I started to cry– where had my puppy gone?  Where was the energetic one-year-old who raced along the snow-pack at dusk while I skate-skied the trails full-speed after work?  She could always keep up.  Now she’d rather lie in the dusty driveway than go for a walk around the block.

Being a mother channels nearly all my care-giving resources into two small demanding beings.  There’s very little left over for myself, my husband, my friends, my other family members.  The dog is low down on the totem pole now– above only the cats and the chickens– and she knows it.

The guilt is the worst part.  As part of her regular health care, I’m now supposed to brush her aging teeth on a daily basis, an ordeal which she detests (snapping at me as I try to swab a medicated Q-tip on her back molars). I struggle to keep up with my own dental hygiene, as well as my 2 children’s.  It’s a set-up for mothering failure for me to add a canine brushing session into the daily chores.  T. and I have decided that once a week is a good goal.  Or every other week.  Better than nothing.

Poor little Lucca dog.  She was my first baby, the apple of my eye.  I remember calling home in tears because she woke up at night howling the first week I brought her home.  ”My social life is over,” I moaned to my mom at age 25, my first experience with mothering-induced sleep-deprivation.  I was bitter that all my friends got to go out dancing when I had to stay home and let the puppy out of her crate to pee every two hours.  

Back then, I thought it was good training for having a real baby.  Now I know it was only a very tiny taste of the extreme love and exhaustion that would consume me, beginning August 26, 2005, when A. came along.

I STILL LOVE YOU LUCCA.  Good dog.

Tags:   Dog mom · guiltNo Comments