Wow to the Bow Wow

Without a doubt, the greatest investment we’ve made to date to secure the health and well being of our kids is the cash we’ve put into our labrador.  She’s an utter failure as a guard dog and I could weave a floor length duster with the hair she leaves on the hardwood, but we adore her and, more importantly, she’s got the kid thing down.

When we brought Lucy home 7 and a half years ago, she gave us three good, hard, raucous puppy years before settling into her mellow zen dog state.  Not a bad turnaround.  By now we’ve nearly forgotten the Sharpie Incident (We’ll just say red Sharpie, child’s comforter, and walking into what appeared to be a grisly murder scene when waking child for school).  There was also the occasion when the lawn was suddenly filled with candy wrappers shortly after Halloween, and the moments while we put two and two together and realized that candy thieves without opposable thumbs probably just eat the wrappers.  It’s even been ages since we’ve discussed the Juice Box Months.  If you’ve ever wondered what happens when 24 juice boxes get punctured one by one and sprayed all over a kitchen, I’ll just say it’s stupefying in its magnificence.  And yes, it lasts for months. 

Today, we rarely deal with more than the occasional sandwich swipe or muddy paw print.  And for what she takes in kibble and heartworm checks, she gives back in childcare.  She’s also a fairly reliable source of entertainment for certain members of the household, particularly when she belches, catches popcorn thrown at her butt, or farts while jumping on the couch. 

I call Lucy the third parent, but more accurately she’s the coolest parent.  If she could dial 911 and microwave Pizza Rolls, I’m pretty positive she could hold down the fort on date night and I could probably pay her in bacon.  For the most part I’m into the whole mom thing, but she was born for it.  And because she’s a dog who is all about winning approval, she doesn’t even act chapped about the fact that we took away her ability to become a mom herself.  She has simply adopted my puppies instead.  Some (crazy) women might feel threatened by a hairy, often smelly female who walks on all fours taking the top love spot in the house, but you won’t find me engaging in such nonsense.  Here, an open and honest list of reasons the dog is a better mother than I am, and why I’m fine with it:

Only a dog could love a traveling hug.  Sure, I’ve done my share of baby wearing, toddler toting, and kid hefting.  But Lucy deals with a whole different brand of child passenger and never complains.  A traveling hug is just like it sounds–an embrace that you have to carry with you.  Kind of like a side saddle pony ride that’s gone horribly wrong, without the saddle or the stomping power of horseshoes.  Since I walk (mostly) upright, a traveling hug on me would mean having a child wrapped around my waist while I walked, and in general I have a tough enough time walking without a child wrapped around my waist.  Lucy, however, pulls it off with ease.

She will look at or listen to anything with great interest.  Even if she could speak, I’m pretty sure the dog would never utter phrases like “Uh huh” or “That’s nice, honey”.  Lord knows I have, try as I might to avoid it.  Long after I’ve glazed over, Lucy finds Lego ships and their names and origins and flight crew details, like, endlessly fascinating.  And any new dance move or magic trick will be carefully watched over and over again, particularly if it is rolled out by a dancer or magician eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Our dog doesn’t have a competitive bone in her body.  If Lucy could play board games my kids would never learn how to lose, but boy would things be quiet.  The sounds of their protests bother her so that even when she’s playing a friendly game of tug of war all they have to do is squawk and she caves like a grandpa at the ice cream truck.  Even though I might personally feel a tug of guilt mixed with eyeball searing boredom at hour three of Candyland, in my house even if you’re four your ass is going all the way back to Mr. Mint.  Lucy would pretend the wrong card was drawn and slip it to the bottom of the deck.

When our youngest Liam was born and we introduced the dog to the new addition, she paused for a moment before wildly licking my cheek, minding her paws so as not to get too close to the baby.  It felt as though she were offering up a hearty congratulations for this tiny wrinkled thing we’d made, even though she couldn’t have known at the time he was someone who would eventually leave all his toys on her dog bed and attempt to ride her like a short, crazy John Wayne.  We’re still waiting for her to tell us it was a bad idea.