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Kennel's report card earns barking rights
(by Christine Thome - September 22, 2011)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Kennel's report card earns barking rights
It's been said that our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet. And while some of my fast-growing teenagers seem to drag their long, hairy arms on the floor in front of them, making them appear more ape-like than human, I think this refers to our beloved pets.
"I love my sweet fuzzy faces," I coo to the two dogs who have taken residency on my lap.
"She must be talking about you and your fuzzy face, Jack!" my husband, John, laughs as he points out our son's sporadic attempt to grow facial hair.
"And the fuzzy butts too," I say as one dog insists on a vigorous pat on her hard-to-reach back end.
"Fuzzy butts? Hey, Dad, looks like Mom loves you too!" our son shoots back as he scoots out of the way before his father can throw something at him.
Our dogs, Louie and 5-month-old Sadie, are quite spoiled. They sleep the days and nights away on human beds, have a large, safe yard to run around, receive constant attention from their human family and lack for absolutely nothing. However, I believe there should be a distinct difference between pets and children, because, if those lines are crossed, you'll end up featured on an episode of "Animal Hoarders."
I have enough vices, idiosyncrasies and idiots in my life to make several reality television shows. I don't need to add a compulsive animal disorder to the list.
Aside from the occasional Halloween costume or bandana, I have refrained from dressing my dogs in human-like clothes. I believe dogs should be walked, not strolled. And I will never pay more for a fancy dog bed than I am willing to pay for my own bed sheets and comforter.
So, when we decided to take the family away for Labor Day weekend, we contacted a neighbor to watch Louie but thought it best to board Sadie, because she is still a puppy. If we didn't, we probably wouldn't have a house to come home to.
Upon entering the kennel, I was surprised to see a steady stream of owners and dogs coming through the door.
"This is a busy weekend for you. I'm lucky to get Sadie in," I said to the girl behind the counter.
"These dogs are coming for doggy day care," she answered as an owner handed her a bag filled with treats and toys for a big dog named Wilson. "For an extra $13 a day, Sadie can go to doggy day care too!"
Ah, the guilt card. If I didn't give in to the doggy day care, I would be a "bad mom." However, $13 was equivalent to an extra two glasses of wine I could have each day on my much-needed vacation. I immediately opted for the wine. I've been a bad mom many times over. I'm used to it.
"We encourage you to call every day to see how Sadie is doing," the cute girl said.
"Really? Because, with the exception of the occasional call home to make sure they are doing their homework and haven't killed the babysitter, I don't even call my kids when my husband and I go on vacation.
"How about this?" I continued. "Let's assume no news is good news. If there is something you think I need to know, you call me."
I'm pretty sure she was writing, "Warning! Very bad mom!" in large red letters on Sadie's file.
"And we'll give you a report card on Sadie's behavior when you pick her up," she continued.
Report card? I dread getting my kids' report cards; I certainly didn't want to see one for an animal who has devoured doughnuts and frozen chicken from the kitchen counter, barks uncontrollably at rabbits and takes great pleasure in strewing garbage throughout the house.
Surprisingly, Sadie's report card was very good. Like her human siblings, she excelled at lunch and recess, yet her caretakers used words like "sweet" and "adorable" to describe her -- words teachers have never, ever spoken when referring to my children.
"Hey! Where's my book report?" my daughter yelled, searching the front of the refrigerator for her proudly displayed B-plus.
"It's been replaced by Sadie's report card."
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