On Father’s Day, 2019, my first without my two dads, I made several vows to our doggie daughter, Lilly, the Boston terrier.
Vows made in the throes of loss can ring melodic and sincere. But in one’s new normal without loved ones, promises delayed or neglected ring hollow as tin. Let’s see how well this daddy followed through with his little girl:
I will make special time for you everyday; to greet you, engage with you, walk and play with you no matter what kind of day I’ve had or whatever “urgent” projects beg my attention.
My favorite part of the day — right after kissing mommy hello — is to kneel down and scratch your while you tap dance. You’ll run and grab your hedgehog, thrash your head a couple of times and bring him to me for a game of tug. Before sunset, the three of us take long walks and watch the light dance through the trees. I always forget what bothers me when we’re together and I know the “other stuff” will get done. What matters most is that we’re all together.
I will continue to train you so that you can be more relaxed and behave your best around other people and animals. Part of this means “listening” to the special language of your facial expressions and body posture.
Most of the time, your mommy and I pay close attention to what you’re trying to say. We know how your eyes squint, your ears flick and the hairs on your back stand up when we get close to the house with the tall, black poodle. Before he throws a fit, we cross the street. You’ll sit and we’ll give you a treat because you’re so calm. Once, I looked at my phone when we got near a corner. Another dog cut toward us and you got spun like a helicopter. I should have been watching.
I will set limits and give you “time outs” when you are demanding. No one ever gets whatever they want all the time. If we gave in to your every desire, you would lose respect for us, we would lose control and we would all be unhappy.
Much as we’d like nothing more than to be with you all day, mommy and daddy have to work to buy dog bones. Once in a while, you’ll stomp your feet while I’m reading a book or doing research on the computer. You also want me to share my food with you. You know I’m saying “No” when I sweep both hands away from my chest. I’m sorry that I’m gruff sometimes. Before I know it, you’ve returned to your bowl to munch on kibble or toss “chippy” over your head. You amuse yourself very well.
I will always consider you when making plans for family trips. Mommy and I know that family trips are happiest when all of us are together, though this may not always be possible.
Daddy left home many times this past year to visit grandma in Chicago. That meant leaving you behind with mommy who took good care of you. The last time I left, grandma was very sick and I knew she wasn’t going to live very long. I was sad when she left, but happy to come home to you and mommy. Very soon, the three of us are going to take a long car ride to our new home. After that, we’ll take you to visit your grandma and grandpa in San Francisco and go to other fun places, some where you can run free.
I will feed you the most wholesome, nutritious food our family can afford to ensure that you go to the doctor as little as possible and live the longest, healthiest and fun-filled life you can.
Because mommy and I love you, we won’t feed you junk, no matter how pretty they package it. We don’t eat nasty things like gluten and fillers that make us puffy and sleepy and don’t want you to, either. Also, we’ll never give you things to chew on made with the stuff they put inside dead people to preserve them. We don’t care how many vets tell us how healthy those foods are. Fresh, humane and organic are what you deserve. We want you with us — healthy and well — for a long time.
I will be with you — and mommy will too — when your time comes to leave this world. You will be wrapped in blankets and toys, kisses and wishes for a safe crossing to those endless green fields where we will hopefully meet again.
Thank God we’re nowhere near this time. You are the scrappiest eight-year-old I’ve ever known! But, the promise still goes. Mommy and daddy may not have been with you from the very beginning, but we are here now — and we will be when you cross over the rainbow. One day, we’ll find you in that green meadow with all the other pets waiting to be with their human parents.
Overall, I’d give myself a B+; good, but room for improvement. Of course, I’m a much harsher critic than my little girl who usually looks at me like I’ve held nothing back.