Dog Fight

For as long as I can remember, my kids were afraid of dogs. And in this case, size didn't matter. If it barked, they would jump up into my arms or speed away like Lance Armstrong. So imagine my surprise when they began begging for one. Their most recent canine campaign was run as well as Obama's Presidential bid, and had me looking around for David Axelrod.

They wrote letters and made speeches. They even made campaign promises they couldn't keep like permanently perfect behavior. But it didn't matter to me. They weren't getting my vote. Now don't get me wrong. I love dogs... just other people's. There's something nice about a pet you can play with at someone else's house, at someone's else's expense. You don't feed it, you don't go for walks. Basically, you rent. No stress, no mess.

My resistance held strong for several years until a cold day in February when I agreed to "research" different breeds at a local dog specialty shop. This place had over 50 available dogs, all sizes and shapes, and their playpens gave my kids the opportunity to test drive a few. Now, we all know that this wasn't the brightest move. How do you bring a kid to a candy store and then say we're just looking.

We saw about a dozen dogs that day, and they settled on a Yorkshire Terrier/Toy Poodle mix. Hypoallergenic, no shedding, good with children, and she'll look like a puppy forever. At least that was the sales pitch. When I told my friends what I'd done, the critiques ranged from "sucker" to "schmuck," and some just went into blatant hysterics. The interesting part was that several of them actually owned dogs themselves. The main theme of their commentary can be best summarized as "Dude, you just dropped down a notch." Dropped down? I just bought my kids a dog. I should be a hero with statues built in my honor, or at least have naming rights to a highway. But they did have a point.

Before the kids, I was #1 in my house. After two children, I dropped to #3, which still warrants more attention than let's say...television. But only when Hannah Montana isn't on. And just when I settled into my bronze medal position, I bring home a puppy and instantly move into 4th place. Using my best sports analogy, in 4th place you don't make the playoffs and the fans quickly lose interest.

It's now 6 months later and I thought the novelty would wear off. It hasn't. I hoped that with time, I'd move back into my 3rd place position. I didn't. And just when I thought I'd hit bottom, the vet reminded us it was time for our puppy to get spayed. Surgery? Even I felt bad. Nursing a small dog with even smaller stitches back to good health beats everything - a full house, a royal flush, or a hole in one. Because let's face it. No one wants to see their puppy in pain and wearing a funnel on its head.

So I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to be #4 in the house for some time and it's O.K. I'm not planning on having any more children, so at least my position should be solidified.

Unless my daughter asks for a second dog.