Pushover Parenting

July 17, 2012

This heat is punishing for everyone, especially for anyone--like me--who owns a big dog that smells bad on the coolest, driest days.

George is a black lab-hound mix who is never fragrant. In the heat, he emits an odor that could (and sometimes does) clear a room.

We rescued George six years ago, after listening to the pleas of our then five-year-old son, who insisted that he would perish without a puppy. So, we promised him a conversation about getting a dog when he turned 10. 

For the next five years, he waged a masterful, unrelenting campaign for a dog. It began with casual inquiries: “Do you think we’ll ever get a dog?” It became more precise: “What would you say my chances are, in percentages, of getting a dog?” It featured a heartfelt vow to do every speck of dog-care, and a large white board on which he listed: Make bed, do homework, walk imaginary dog, do all chores or else you won’t have a conversation about getting a dog when you’re 10. It included a humanitarian plea: “I just want to save a life!” It even included feigned resignation: “I know I’m never getting a dog” and, when I called him cute, the response, “I’d be cuter with a dog.”

I don't know what it is about mothers and sons, but I caved in and persuaded my husband that our little boy needed a dog.

True to his word, E. cared for the pup, for about a week.

Fast forward six years: George, who was only 40 pounds when we adopted him, is now the size of a newborn calf. I know that because I walk him through fields where dairy cows graze and he and the calves match up, inch for inch.

He's a good dog and impossibly attached to me, which is sort of nice, now that the kids aren't home much. We have our routine: a four or five mile hike through the woods every day, a stop near the river where he wades and drinks.

When I was a young mom, most of my friends were parents I knew from the playground or swim lessons at the YMCA. Many of these parents are still my friends, but our kids have moved on and away from each other. We don't see each other much anymore.

I spend a lot of time with George. We both like to powerwalk. We make a good team. Now I identify people not by their kids, but by their pooches. And I don't have to make playdates.