Day 5: Dogs Days
I have three dogs. They’re technically seniors–an 8-year-old mastiff, a 9-year-old husky mix, and a 10-year-old whippet mix–Dobby (from Harry Potter).
My wife has taken to saying, “Jeez, good thing we don’t have kids.” We were both surprised to find that I am the pushover mom who looks lovingly into the dogs’ eyes, strokes their soft ears, and tells them how beautiful they are. She, on the other hand, is the fun, rowdy mom who also keeps the rules, boundaries, and no’s firm.
I worry…a lot. I worry about their happiness and whether or not they get enough love, exercise, medical attention, etc. And I often feel bad because I could always do more for them, could enrich their lives more. I know this is a product of good old-fashioned Catholic guilt, but that doesn’t change it.
Sometimes…a lot of the time…I think about them dying. I’ll lay my head on my mastiff’s warm belly. Surrounded by her earthy scent, I’ll feel her even breaths and think about how she’ll be dead soon. Then I’m filled with sadness and preemptive regret.
There’s never enough time, and I can never live up to my own expectations.