Monday, January 26, 2009


I remember when I first realized that my mom was probably not to be trusted.

She always seemed to have the answers to everything. Any question I asked was promptly answered and I always figured that since she was my mom, and pretty much the center of my truth universe whatever she said was fact. It was reality; the way things were.

Every morning of elementary school my sister and I would call down to her from our bedrooms, "Mom, what's the weather like today." She'd answer and pretty much always be right on.

Except one day she wasn't.

As I trudged home in the pouring rain wearing a sundress I started putting two and two together. I started to realize that MY MOM WAS MAKING STUFF UP!?!?!?

(insert the sound of my little brain exploding)

If she didn't technically know the answer to a question she'd just tell me her best guess. And sometimes that guess was going to be a little off. I couldn't just give her my agency and let her run with it.

Which is the lesson, I'm sure that our little puppy Roscoe is learning this very second.

Because, you see, this morning we skipped his breakfast, gave him a million nervous hugs, and drove him up to the vet for his surgery. The big one. His loss-of-manhood surgery.

Up to this point he's been able to trust us. We've never led him astray, never tricked him into doing something he wouldn't want to do himself. And now? We've lead him to the lair of the doctor who will remove any chance he has to start a family, to understand the circle of life, to see his own little pups grow into adulthood.

And it kind of pains me to know that somewhere in the back of his mind he might question my love for him. He may doubt my motives. He may wonder if what I'm telling him is the truth. That's a tough nugget to swallow.

But my mom has always told me that getting your pets neutered is the responsible and good thing to do. So I did it.

At least I know that Bob Barker would be proud.


heather said...

That is how I feel every time I take Ezra to get shots. But then he always holds on to me tight and seems to forget about it by the time we're back in the car. I think someday he will realize that I am the one letting him get poked by a needle, then he will truly hate me.

And Bob Barker would definitely be proud of you.

Anth said...

"At least I know that Bob Barker would be proud."

Do you really need any more than that?

The parental urge to act all-knowing is impossible to deny.