Speak, Dina, speak!

A guest blog by Dina:

TicTac is now 7 months old and has been in our household for 5 months now. It's a funny thing, being a dog owner. Some have likened it to having a child, although I see some serious differences. Besides the fact that TicTac is not of the human race (we still love you, anyway, TicTac), or that she looks nothing like myself or Joe (so you can't wonder, hmmm, is she Chinese, Filipino, Laotian, or Mexican?), you can't really slap a diaper on TicTac and call it a day. She's totally mobile, which unfortunately, means that so is her 1) vomit, 2) pee, and 3) diarrhea. At the same time, Joe and I will never have to worry about whether TicTac will grow up confident and self-assured, that she gets into a good college, or marries some fine young dog from a good breed.

But here are some things that dog ownership has taught me:

1. Guilt comes easy. You leave the house for an hour, you come back to a wailing dog. You feel pretty lousy about that. Now try leaving your dog at a kennel, no matter how fancy, for 10 days and not feel guilty about that. I've wondered often whether TicTac really misses us. As it is, she just sleeps most of the day. So I really wonder whether TicTac feels any pangs of "I miss you." Or whether it's because we are so pre-conditioned to feel guilt about any last thing. So should I feel guilty when I leave the house for an hour? Or should I be saying, 'you're a dog. Dogs live in the wild, for crying out loud. I'm sure you can manage for an hour."

2. I am the disciplinarian. Now, this is very meaningful for the future of the To household. One day, Joe and I may have kids. And it's become abundantly clear to me, in our raising of young TicTac, that I am the bitch. I'm the one that tells her "off," "no," "leave it," that doesn't want her sleeping in the bed all the time, that doesn't have treats in every single pocket of every single item of clothing I own. Now, this would all be okay and acceptable if this was only about raising TicTac. But this does not bode well for the future. Just imagine a possible, yet likely, conversation between me and the future To child (who we can call Quasimo -- think about that -- for now) one day:

Quasimo: Can I have this?
Me: No, you can't.
Quasimo: Why not?
Me: Because I said so. [As much as I hope I never say this, there's a high probability that this will come out of my mouth one day.]
Quasimo: [Throwing fit] Fine! I don't love you anyway!
Me: That's okay, the store where I bought you said I could return you within 10 years anyway. [Again, hopefully I will never say something like this, but sarcasm really is one of my best qualities.]
{Five minutes pass, and Quasimo finds Joe}
Quasimo: Can I have this?
Joe: Sure!
Quasimo: I love you the best, daddy. [At the same time, thinking, Mommy sure is bitch. Incidentally, you might wonder why a child so young knows the word "bitch" and again, that will probably be my fault.]

As you can see, this dialogue can play out in many scenarios. I want a candy, I want this computer game, I want to watch TV, I want this car. And actually, it has played out. TicTac licks Joe's face more, wails more when he leaves, and sleeps on his side of the bed more. I'm doomed. Damn Joe, for being such a pushover for the ones he loves (it's both my blessing and my curse).

3. I am truly an adult. I had thought, when I was 29, that when I turned 30, I would really be an adult. But then 2 years later, once I really got my shit together, I realized oh, okay, now I'm an adult. Now, there's no question. Besides being an age that is starting to sound ancient to me (I mean, when you start identifying more and more with the women of Sex in the City, you know you're a goner), I realize that with dog ownership, my freedom is gone.

No more whisking away for a surprise get away weekend. Or for long, 5 hour multi-course meals. Or for a Saturday jaunt to Napa. Nope, nope. Who's going to walk the dog during that time? Will she need to go poop? Will she have food? Getaways now require arranging for 'care' for TicTac. Or we bring her with us. I pack my single bag. And then I pack TicTac's crate, blankets, food, bowls, chew toys, treats, necessary medicine, and the list goes on. The weekends revolve around visits to Crissy Field so TicTac can run around (like a banshee, I might add) on the beach. If there's a choice between, say, going to Crissy Field or hitting a Museum, guess what we're doing (okay, a museum was a bad choice, who wouldn't pick Crissy Field -- let's say a movie, or going bowling!).

But at the end of the day, she's still worth the responsibility. Especially when I hang out with her all day, with her ignoring me - and then Joe comes home, and TicTac falls into a fit of excitement for her husband. Woops, I mean, my husband.

A family portrait: