When I was in Elementary School in the late 80’s, one of my three older brothers acquired a cute white and black cocker spaniel. “Ashley” became our first family dog. But, my Mom hates dogs. We all knew my Mom hated dogs because it was repeated often and sternly in those early years.
Ashley, a delightfully shaggy pup, would abruptly bolt through the house and dive into the kitchen, hasty to retake her designated post. This dramatic display signified that my Mom was home. That dog was amazing at detecting my Mom’s white Chrysler “La Bamba” as it neared the house. Ashley saved herself many times from the disgruntled muttering and scolding that resulted each time she was found anywhere but the kitchen.
As I moved away and grew my own family, I learned that my Mom made room in her very own walk-in closet for a sweet oversized golden retriever that she so-called, “co-owned” with the same brother many years later. “Bo” suffered severe panic attacks during rain storms and would retreat to my mother’s closet often. I sympathize.
In the years following Bo, my mom was living with us, she would frequently say, “Poor Toby”, when she self-proclaimed to be late in serving breakfast to our family’s freckled-nose mutt at the time. As if, soaking the kibble, mixing it pointedly with a silver spoonful of wet canned food to ease his aging teeth, was not royal treatment enough. After watching and laughing at the then-74-year-old “Grams” kicking around a squeaky yellow duck and chasing a plush soccer ball as it disappeared through the dog door, I turned to my husband laughing and said, “You know, my Mom hates dogs”…
Reflecting on the past four decades of family dogs, I have observed my Mom’s compassionate behavior regardless of her commitment to “hating” dogs. These stories comfort me as my family welcomes a new furry friend into the house this week, adopted from the Charlotte Humane Society. The experience of bringing a 40 pound one-year-old puppy into a full house has struck a fine balance between frustration and joy. The transition to introduce “Pepper” has literally involved a bit of blood, sweat and a few tears. Our family is willing though, to modify the configuration of furniture and plush accessories temporarily while our new roommate adjusts.
Today, my Mom popped her head out of her room to extend her daily, “good morning”. I listened as she greeted the dog first, sweetly inquiring how the dog slept, assuring Pepper that she was a good dog and asking how she is doing. Several minutes passed and my Mom and I were both laughing, realizing that she had ignored me completely in this daily greeting. There is no doubt that Pepper will be accepted into the not-so-secret society of loved furry friends and become the next pseudo grand-puppy with the world’s best live-in grandmother.
Shortly after reading this story, my mother said, “You know what I really hate is cats”.
Dedicated to my Mom, Ann Ashworth, “Queen of Everything”.
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