I’m sure I’m not the first to compare having a puppy to having a new baby. But I’ve never had a puppy before and the similarities are striking. I must say that I found my baby easier to manage. But that baby, my son, Nick, is eleven now. Perhaps my memory has faded.

Kashi, our four-month old Bichon Frisee, needs constant attention. He wants to cuddle, he wants to bite, he wants to pee and poop whenever and wherever he wants. He has me on a strict schedule. We head outside every forty-five minutes and I wait, oh so hopefully, that he’ll do his business on the street and not on my new carpet.

When I walk with him through the nearby shopping district, we spark the same attention I used to get with my baby boy. I was fortunate enough to join a mothers’ club and now it seems I’ve joined a dog lovers’ club. Almost everyone we pass stops to admire my puppy.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“He’s so cute.”

“How old is he?”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“You’re so lucky.”

Most of the time I feel lucky. I’m much more frustrated with the puppy than I ever was with my son, Nick. I felt like Nick got me, that he knew he’d be well taken care of. The puppy is still not certain of what end is up (pun intended) and pays me little heed. On the other hand, the puppy sleeps through the night and for that I am grateful.

And then there are the products. Who knew? Moist treats, dry food, Greenies, kennels, pee pads, leashes, collars, play toys. I’ve resisted my son’s begging for dog clothes.

Instead of a nanny, Kashi has a personal trainer who comes weekly. The trainer lets us know exactly what we’re doing wrong. All fault lies with us, not the child. Oh, excuse me, the puppy.

My quiet mornings are gone. My cherished hour before my husband and son arise. My time to myself with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, my writing time. I rise now to a whimpering puppy that needs to be taken outside within two minutes in order to avoid peeing on the floor. I sit with my coffee, the puppy by my side, nipping my toes with his sharp pointy teeth.

The similarities to having an infant continue. My husband and I had dinner with ten friends last Saturday night. The puppy was the main conversation. One woman shot me a look of disdain when I admitted I had no photos of Kashi with me to share.

And why does my voice automatically change to baby talk when I hold Kashi? “I wuv you liddle boy,” just floats out of my mouth. “Mommy take care of you.”

So what’s the payoff? I do love the little guy and I’m his mom. No matter what, I take care of him. Then there’s the joy this puppy brings to my son. The look of happiness, of completeness that lights Nick up. And he’s a good boy, taking equal responsibility for toilet training and walking our little white fluff ball. Our only child now has a constant comrade.

Okay, I admit it; I’m not a dog person. But I’m a Nick person, from head-to-toe, from heart-to-heart.

By Marianne Lonsdale

Labels: Marianne Lonsdale

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