A friend (it was Suzanne) recently chided (congratulated?) me on my new status as a "stay at home dog mom." A little more than a month after adopting our puppy and about three weeks since I quit my part-time gig, it's both ridiculous and accurate.
With ample free time on my hands and an adorable new fixation to fill it, things have gotten a little weird. I would, and have, referred to my dog and I as being "close."
In no particular order, here are some of the stranger things I've done for/to my pup in the name of good parenting:
- Felt a totally strange sense of swelling pride when anyone refers to my dog as "handsome," "good-looking" or "studly," as if my own genetic material is to thank. (This happens all the time, by the way. He's a canine Ryan Gosling.) *BEAMS*
- As a person who despises baby talk of any kind, whether between parent and child, couples, or ESPECIALLY when perpetrated by those people who inexplicably believe others find it attractive when they speak like they're only partially developed . . . I hate that I talk to my dog in a mixture of gibberish and high-pitched coos of admiration. I make myself cringe. I cannot stop.
- Once, at a park, Gibbs got one of his raging boners of excitement and in the course of running around covered his red rocket with grass and other debris. Not understanding (and I still do NOT get this) what would happen to the muck once it receded back into his body — like, where does it go? That cannot be good for him — I looked around and furtively wiped his doggie dick off with my sleeve. I am confident that no one saw me only because I have yet to be reported for bestiality.
- We have a series of inside jokes and it is definitely possible that only I find them funny. For example, I often speak to my dog in private in an Irish accent (he has almost certainly never been to Ireland) and have given him several additional nicknames — Mr. Wiggles, Little Man, Boobie (???) — that probably only confuse him but which I consider to be special terms of endearment.