The fact that we have just plunked down an insane amount of money for a dog bed (for a creature who would be just as happy sleeping on old towels) is testament to how much in love we have fallen with our new family member from the Humane Society.

And this is probably old news to other dog owners, but I am surprised at the parallels I keep drawing between my child’s and my dog’s behavior:
***Like my daughter so poetically put it - “Mom you’re all about poop… first you used to wipe my butt, now you’re picking up Deuce’s poop.”
***I have to repeat myself to make myself heard.
***You discipline them for something, then turn around an hour later and they are doing the same thing.
***I have to regularly stop them from putting inappropriate stuff in their mouth.
***They never shut the door behind them.
***They never pick up after themselves. Dog toys, kid stuff – they’re everywhere.
***They’re constantly underfoot. I turn around and one or the other is nipping at my heels.
***They seek my approval and then are disdainful of my reaction.
***I have to make sure they “go” before bedtime.
***They want treats at the wrong time.
***They always want to get into bed with us and then hog up all the space.

And though I have to keep reminding my daughter that he is not the brother she always wanted – “You are my child.” I keep saying about him, “I am his owner.”

But then I look deep into those wise brown eyes and can’t help but be convinced that like our children are meant just for us, aren’t our pooches?

By Tania Malik

Labels: children, discipline, dogs, Humane Society, poop, Tania Malik, toys, treats

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My ten-year old daughter wants a dog when her little sister turns four.

At first I was thankful for the two-year reprieve. Now I’m annoyed by her hypothetical dog. With its hypothetical name. And with the hypothetical questions she feels warrant discussion.

Or worse -- answers.

Should it be an Irish coat or an American coat? Can we move Cameron’s toy kitchen and have it sleep there? Should we paper train or outside train? Go to a breeder or adopt? If it was okay for Cameron to be three years old instead of four, could we get the dog in a year?

Mackenzie repeated the last question from the back seat as we raced across town from dance practice to Rossi Field, my son Tyler’s major league aspirations hanging in the balance and Cameron’s missed nap whines turning to full screams.

A dog in a year?

Was she nuts?

By Kimberley Kwok

Labels: dogs, kids, Kimberley Kwok, Marley and Me

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