In apology to my dogs
Your headline: ‘‘Christmas ‘too dear’ for many families’’, on November 20, illustrates the problem with Christmas.
It’s not a lack of money, it’s our assumption Christmas is something that has to be bought.
Christmas is peace and goodwill to all people, it’s spending time with wha¯ nau and friends, taking a break, celebrating the passing of the year, giving thanks for the blessings we do have, the joy of giving, presence, not presents.
As a commuter cyclist I notice every year around this time, as the pressure goes on to ‘‘buy’’ as much Christmas as you can, that people’s driving behaviour deteriorates markedly.
People become less considerate and more selfish, especially towards ‘‘losers’’ on bicycles. May you enjoy all the blessings of the season.
Karen Tutt, Palmerston North
Iwas never a dog person. Our family always had cats, so much so that when one ran away or died, another one would just turn up at our door within a matter of weeks and make itself at home and that was that. Replacement cat became our new family member. But then I married a dog person, who most definitely wasn’t a cat person.
A couple of months before we got married, we welcomed our first fur baby in to our clan.
Yes, I just said fur baby, and squirm as you might at that terminology, he really was. My baby covered in fur.
In fact, now that I can compare my love of my own human children to that of my dogs, I stand even more so by that often-maligned phrase of ‘‘fur baby’’.
There were so many similarities – the sleep loss, the toilet training, the disciplining, the playing with toys, the cuddles, the worry when sickness strikes, the vaccinations, the need to have to think of someone other than ourselves, the love.
Thor, our furry little miniature schnauzerminiature fox terrier cross, entered our lives and broke all our pre-conceived dog owner rules, much like our parenting rules when our children arrived. ‘‘No dogs in our bedroom,’’ the husband declared.
But it wasn’t long before young Thor was not just on our bed, but under the covers as my little spoon.
I justified it by stating he was a non-shedding dog so it was hygienic to have him in there, but the reality was that he was my new little mate, my sidekick, and he quickly became ‘‘my’’ dog.
Then while at the peak of our infertility journey, we decided that if kids weren’t going to be on the cards anytime soon, then another dog would fill the space.
We found Delta, a beautiful black English labrador who would be the perfect yin to our crazy little yang.
Of course, fate saw this perfect opportunity to grant us the blessing of a human child, so suddenly I was busily dealing with a new puppy while also dealing with a Real Life Human Baby.
Not stressful at all.
Another child quickly followed and the poor pups got relegated down the order of attention.
I would go through stages of intense sadness for the change in our dogs’ world that the introduction of children brought, but now I feel like we’ve turned another corner.
My children are now of the age where they have formed their own relationship with the dogs, and the dogs with them.
Where once Thor would run and hide from the babies as they learnt to crawl and walk, he now welcomes their pats, cuddles and scrap-feeding from the dinner table.
Delta, our gentle, loving lab is smitten with the attention given to her by the kids as she flops down on her back in front of them, paws up, puppy dog eyes searching for belly rubs.
Just the other day I spotted something under her chin – some grey hairs.
There’s nothing like acknowledging the passing of time by realising how brief an existence dogs have in our lives.
A pup no more, it made me so sad to realise there will one day be a time when they’re no longer by our sides with their smelly farts and poo the size of Tongariro in the back yard.
And then I pre-emptively got sad for my children knowing that one day we will have to explain the loss of their pet, much like we had to recently explain the loss of a family member to them.
I’m yet to find the perfect way of dealing with the topic of loss and grief with children, but I feel like it’s one of those things no-one has the exact answer for.
I have always been open when talking about death to and around my children. I believe more hurt can come from creating taboos around topics than shining light on them.
In saying that, Mr Greer does think I’m being rather ridiculous at mentally killing the dogs off before they’ve even got to halfway of their life expectancy.
I guess I’m just feeling the guilts over the changes they’ve had in their lives, much the way the ‘‘mummy guilts’’ attack most mums at some stage during their parenting duty.
Sometimes it feels like we’re spread so thin across everything, trying to keep all the balls up in the air and the plates spinning, that something’s got to give, and sometimes that thing is that the dogs don’t get the love they deserve.
So this is my apology to them. Sure, they can’t read, but I hope they know what a joy they are to our family and how loved and appreciated they are. Woof.
There’s nothing like acknowledging the passing of time by realising how brief an existence dogs have in our lives.