Paw Print Parents

As always, I lead with some disclaimers. I am NOT comparing babies/children to puppies/dogs. We all know, dogs are much harder. :). LOL. Secondly, I am not minimizing the strength is takes to be a parent, in any capacity. Parents, in all respects, manage several challenges with their children. If you are offended, please don’t be. If you know me at all, I never intend to offend (sometimes it happens), but I am putting it out there so you all know…. Gotta beef?  Let me know about it. 🙂

For those of you who are parents to furbabies, I hope you can relate. This post is dedicated to my own furbabies, Stanley (14), Maybel (12), Grant (6), Herschel (4) and Louie (soon to be 3). Stanley, Herschel and Louie are furbabies of the canine variety. Maybel and Grant are on the feline spectrum. Maybel and Grant have taken over the basement as the Cat-Layer and rarely cross the kitty door into our human/dog world, so most of this blog will be based on my experiences with Puppy Parenting. 

Stanley James

I’ll give you the Welch Household story, with brevity, of course. We were so happy to have little Stanley James join our family in 2002. He was a birthday gift from Andy. As tiny as a guinea pig when he came home, he was Mamaw’s first grand baby and we instantly fell in love. Andy said when we got Stanley he was not going to be one of those people that would refer to himself as “daddy” to a dog (that didn’t last long). We read the books. We crate trained (failed miserably at night! That crying hurt our hearts and it wasn’t long before he was in out bed with us!). Stanley had a vendetta against Andy and would pee on anything that was Andy’s – he peed on the floor at the end of the table that Andy always sat at. He peed on the leg of the coffee table at the end of the couch where Andy always sat. He peed on Andy’s pillow. But, Andy loved him, and still loves him despite his ability to be a bit of a crotchety ol’ man.

Herschel Monroe The Day He Became a Welch

Fast forward to Stanley being 10 years old. Set in his ways. Andy set in his – of wanting his own puppy. Andy inquired on a litter of cocker spaniels. All sold. Then, a phone call at 9 pm on a Friday. Someone backed out. One puppy left. It’s early November. Andy pulls the but-he-won’t-have-a-home-for-Christmas line. Hook. Line. Sinker. We take a road trip – with Stanley – to Clio, to meet in a Walmart parking lot to “look” at a puppy. Now, ya’ll know full well, we were not going to leave that parking lot without that puppy. We had already decided on a name, based on his picture, Herschel Monroe. Turns out his mamma’s name was Hershey Kiss and we didn’t even know it – but, I digress. Stanley hated him, and I mean, H-A-T-E-D him. Stanley sat on my shoulder the whole drive home while Andy cradled this very uncared for puppy who, turns out, was younger than we expected and had ear mites and fleas. Lucky us. I cried on my way home from work every night for, like, 2 weeks, praying Stanley and Herschel would warm up to one another. At least tolerate being in the same room together. The vet assured me it would happen, but I wasn’t convinced. I was proved wrong, Herschel takes great care of his big-little brother. Could be a little more gentle, and less grumbly, but has never hurt him. 

Louie Benjamin

Fast forward, again, to July 2014. Andy just happened to be on Craigslist (not looking for puppies, he claims) and sees a little cocker spaniel that looks like Herschel, but is black and white instead of brown and white. Gah. It was the eyes – Louie’s, not Andy’s – I couldn’t say no. So, long story longer, we end up in a Greenville park, 10:00 at night making a puppy deal. Louie had “cherry eye”. The previous owners said it was a simple inexpensive surgery, and it can be, but, to do it right and prevent issues in the future, it meant a visit to a doggie ophthalmologist (yes, they are real) and a fairly expensive surgery. Well worth it, but, I can tell you, I am in the wrong business! LOL. 

Now, we have a zoo.

Stanley is very laid back – partly because he is deaf (almost completely), but has no tolerance for the BS of the other two. Stanley is the type of guy who, if you want to Netflix and chill, he’s there to Netflix and chill. If you wanna go for a walk, Stanley will go for a walk. You wanna nap, Stanley will nap. Thinks every person that comes to the house is there to see him and loves attention. 

Herschel is anxious and scared of everything, including his shadow. Short people, not just kids, but people 5’ or shorter seem to be the bane of his existence, but we try to work on that. Even after hundreds (yes, hundreds!) of dollars on training, we are really no closer to having his anxiety managed as we were before the money spent. Herschel is non-stop. He’s a toddler. Always on the move. Loves squeaky balls. Loves getting them stuck under the couch even more. Our trainer found his real “passion”. He loves to track things – he can catch a scent and off he goes. He’s driven. Motivated. On the move. 

 Now, Louie on the other hand… 

Louie is Andy’s absolute best friend. His shadow. Louie does not play fetch. If he does not have to, he does not run. He likes food. Lots of it. Any kind of it. He follows Andy around the house with such loyalty. When Andy is gone over night, he will lay on the walk outside waiting for him to come home. I have to bribe him with treats to come in. He knows every night what time Andy should be coming home and “man’s” the dog door – head out, body in, just waiting to be first to welcome him home. He will sit on Andy lap, paws on Andy’s chest and stare at him, hanging on every word he has to say. He lays outside Andy’s bathroom door in the morning waiting for him to get out of the shower. Literally, best friends. 

We love our dogs. We are the people who when we leave the house say, “Momma/Daddy loves you. Be home later. Be good.” We leave the TV on for them. I keep leaving it on HGTV hoping someday I will come home to a kitchen remodel, but it has yet to happen. Each of the them get birthday gifts and Christmas presents. They are included in conversations. We often don’t go out on the weekends because we feel bad for the dogs being home alone all week and on the weekend. We have a babysitter (Thanks, Mumma!). The thought of boarding them anywhere just kills us. Our furniture is the dogs furniture. Our bed is the dog’s bed. A lot of times, they are the reason we cannot have nice things. 

Like parents, we worry. “Is he eating enough?”, “Has he went potty today?”, “He’s acting weird.”, “Has that bump always been there?” 

We deal with their health problems, just like you would for your child. We’ve paid enormous vet bills all for the sake of keeping our furbabies healthy.   

We’ve cried when they hurt and we can’t help. We’ve cried when they’ve been sick and we don’t know if they are going to make it. 

You may call us crazy. We call it love. 

With all the love, there are moments I swear I am going to make them move out. Phrases often heard in our house: 

“Get off his peeper.”

“The coffee table is not where you belong.” 

“Who pooped/puked/peed on the floor?”

“Mind your own business.”

“Get out of there.”

“My underwear are not chew toys.”

“Please do not take that towel outside.”

“Do you HAVE to poop on the sidewalk?”

I cannot tell you how many times we have Googled “Can dogs eat ____” to see if we have poisoned one of them. Just like WebMD, I should be banned from doggy health sites. It always ends with me thinking they are going to die from some disease only .01% of dogs are affected with. I always think they could be that .01%. 

The mail lady hates us. She refuses to get out of her little mail car if the dogs are out. She will honk the horn until someone comes out. The UPS guy, on the other hand, I have to give props to. He chances stepping in doggy landmines crossing the yard and speaks so kindly to each of them. Way to go, UPS guy! 🙂 

We are blackjack dealers after dinner to show our hands are empty and our plates are clean. We play ball even when we don’t want to. We get up in the night to let them out to potty. We chase them through the neighborhood in less than proper attire to make sure they are safe at home. We make sacrifices. 

And we get unconditional love for it.  

My boys have helped me through so many nights of panic, fear, anxiety, sadness…. All with no questions, just snuggles, kisses and love. They ask for so little and give back so much. 

Andy said people think we are crazy. I think that’s OK. I will take being called crazy for loving the one thing on this planet that loves you more than he loves himself.