The Grass Is Always Greener and the Top Pillow is Always Comfier (Part Two)

As you may have guessed by now, my husband and I differ on the upbringing of Dog.

I feed Dog scraps of bacon and make sure that he is walked in the morning--no matter how crazy/busy my schedule is. I love Dog and, while I can't exactly say I put him first, I do give his needs and desires serious consideration above my own.

I realize that Dog is a lot like my children, somewhat helpless, dependent on my kindness for even the most basic of needs like food and…well, food is Dog’s basic need. I feel responsible.

I tend to empathize with Dog and advocate to my husband on his behalf, much like I do with the kids:

“I know Carson didn’t practice his guitar tonight, but he had three pages of homework and baseball practice and then had to go to his sister’s choral concert. Let's give him a break.”

“Even though Savannah went to Disneyland with the choir last year, all her friends are going again this year and she’s willing to pay for half the cost of the trip from her savings and Christmas money. I think we should let her go.”

And with Dog, “I think he likes to lie on your nice Alpaca rug because it reminds him of his mother. He gets comfort from the feel of the rug. How can we deny him that?“

I have read enough parenting books to know that you have to be consistent with children, and I try to be consistent, both with the kids and with Dog. Consistently indulgent, but still…

On the other hand, my husband talks a mean talk—all discipline and rules and toughness. But he’s really a big softie, especially when it comes to Dog.

When Dog started jumping on the chair in our bedroom,

my husband at first got mad, moved him off the chair and forbid him to lie there ever again.

Dog is no dummy. And he has a lot of discretionary time in his day, with nothing to do but eat and sleep and plot his devious plan for world domination, which all begins with the manipulation of his immediate humans.

So we would notice that Dog would start out the night on his perfectly nice, comfy, beautifully coordinated round dog pillow.


But when we woke up in the morning, Dog had surreptitiously moved in the middle of the night to the chair. What to do? My husband blamed me. I was too easy on Dog. I treated him like a human. I let him get away with murder. I had no defense. I was weak, an easy mark, dependent upon my husband to lay down the law, the keep the order in the house among humans and beasts.

Then one night I was surprised at what I found.

To be continued.