Every Dog's Mom Will Have Her Day

My dogs, Merlin and Pandora, used to be my lifeblood. I was the ultimate crazy-ass “Dog Mom”. I doted on them almost maniacally. I took them everywhere with me, fed them the best dog food I could afford, bathed and groomed them at least twice weekly, dressed them in little doggy sweaters, let them sleep cuddled up to me in bed, walked them daily, bought medical insurance for them, got their pictures taken professionally, talked about them incessantly and even made scrapbooks about them. 

It all started soon after I graduated from college in June 2001. I dove head first into my nursing career, then started what I thought was a new life together with my boyfriend of five years. We bought a house and he and I moved out of my mom's, where we'd been living during my last couple years of college. Only one thing was obviously missing—a furry companion to share our new life with! So, we got a Jack Russell Terrier puppy and I dubbed him Merlin.

Just a month later, however, my boyfriend and I had a terrible break-up and then it was just me and Merlin. I was horrified over the break-up, and suffered some of the darkest days of my life after that. Merlin kept me sane by loving me unconditionally. Sometimes, he was the only thing motivating me to carry on with any semblance of normalcy. I became dangerously thin and was exhausted mentally and emotionally. Everything in my life had changed in what seemed like a heartbeat, and Merlin was my only source of comfort for quite awhile. Because of this, we developed a special bond. I was twenty-three years old, and it was me and my dog against the world!

A couple years later, shortly after Merlin and I had moved in with my fiancé, we adopted another Jack Russell Terrier. I named her Pandora. I was in heaven!

My daily routine often revolved around what I was going to do with my dogs. I loved them so much. I freaked out any time they had to endure the pain of vaccinations, or got hurt or sick. When my husband and I were planning our honeymoon, I made sure I found THE best kennel in the area. It had heated floors and I paid a premium for them to be walked and played with in the yard twice daily. During the honeymoon, I called the kennel a few times a day, nearly in tears. I missed them like mad, and even cut our honeymoon short by one day so I could be reunited with them….Yes, I was that kind of insane.

Then I got pregnant. I was excited, but also torn. I remember saying to my husband one day, as I squeezed Merlin’s furry body against me, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to love the baby ‘enough’….I just can’t imagine loving anything more than I love Merlin!” And I was quite honestly making myself neurotic over the whole thing.

After nine tumultuous months (I've never known a time in my life so filled with torture and joy at the same time), the day came when we brought our precious newborn baby girl Colleen home. I was prepared for a little jealousy, especially from Merlin. But what I was not prepared for was the snarling he did at her, lunging toward her with teeth bared, hackles raised. I was both relieved and horrified when I immediately realized that I would kill Merlin if he hurt my baby girl. Without forethought. With my bare hands. With absolutely no regret.

So now I start my point. On Mother’s Day every year while browsing Facebook, I notice a lot of women celebrating as “mothers” of “furry kids”. Most of them are women who don’t have children and dote on their animals just as I used to with Merlin and Pandora. Trust me, I understand the sentiment of being a parent to an animal. I was there.

While I suspect that some of these women are just being cutesy and not entirely serious, I know that others are entirely committed to the belief that they are, indeed, mothers to their pets. And I can’t help but feel a little put off. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way and do a mental facepalm because I know that I was the exact same way. I’m pretty sure I saw myself as a full-fledged mother, and so I have no right to judge. But maybe that’s why I can’t help feeling embarrassed on behalf of those women.

Before I had Colleen, I would listen to groups of mothers talking about their kids. It wasn't usually because I was interested in what they were saying. I was probably sitting with them in the break room at work, or overhearing them at a party. I took notice that some mothers would become disinterested or even a tad miffed when women without kids would bring up their pets (usually dogs) and then expect to remain included in the conversation. Well, at the time, I didn't fully understand the disgruntlement of the mothers.

Now I do. I’m sorry, but if I’m talking to other women about the frustrations of raising a child, I don’t want to hear about the struggles of pet ownership. Like, when we’re talking about the relentless torture of having to get up every two hours during the night to feed a colicky baby while dealing with postpartum hormones, grotesquely swollen, aching breasts and cracked, bleeding nipples, I don’t want to hear a story about how Princess whines for two hours straight when she gets put in her little crate at night because she’s not fully house-trained yet, and how terrible it is to have to do that to her. When we’re talking about the sheer joy of watching our toddlers take their first step, I don’t want it to be compared to the first time Fido returned a ball during a game of fetch. I’m not the savviest person when it comes to social interaction. I have found myself committing many a conversational faux pas. I’m glad this wasn't one of them, because even if I hadn't seen it as much of one before, I do now.

The realization that the love for my pets pales in comparison to the love for my child hit me like lightening that day when I brought Colleen home. There’s really not a whole lot I can say to fully illustrate or make it blatant enough when I say that loving your child is so much more visceral than loving your pet. For the record, the dogs adjusted to Colleen's presence. For quite awhile, Pandora thought Colleen was her baby and is in nearly all of Colleen's earliest baby pictures. Merlin's nasty snarling faded into a deliberate disregard for Colleen. Once she reached toddlerhood, Colleen and Merlin became closer when he realized she could play with him. Then, he turned into one of those kinds of dogs that lets his human "siblings" do whatever they want to him. He never complained about or tried to remove the little barrettes Colleen started putting on his ears....

 Our love for our pets is phenomenal in its own right. I’m not saying it is an insignificant love. In fact, it is probably very intense and special to women who are not ready for or are unable to have children. I can attest to that. Hell, there are times when I prefer the company of Merlin over Colleen. 

He never complains or questions anything. He will ride quietly in the passenger seat of my car and alternate between sticking his head out the window and staring at me lovingly. Colleen, of course, needs constant interaction or she’ll get bored and fall asleep in the backseat, then be a total grouchy brat the rest of the day after I wake her up. I’m just saying that there’s a time and a place to bring up pets, and it’s not during conversations about children. The grounds for comparison just don’t exist.

If it were feasible and not so pretentious, I’d challenge every childless woman out there who claims she loves her pet as much as a mother loves her child to actually have a baby. Whether it be to push it out of her vagina, have it surgically extracted from her womb, or go through the harrowing adoption process to achieve motherhood. Then take that baby—a part of her very self—and then say her love for her pet compares in even the slightest way. Look into that baby’s eyes, smell that baby scent, nuzzle that baby, feel the smooth skin of that baby as she holds its tiny warm body to her chest and nourishes it with her own breasts. Then say it’s all one in the same. I dare you! 

So, yeah. There you have my little soapbox of the day. Don’t pretend you have any clue what it feels like to love a child because you have a pet that you love soooo much! It. Is. Not. The. Same. Please don’t insult mothers by saying it is.

Well. Maybe there needs to be a “special day” for “furry kid moms” (who is in charge of creating days of recognition anyways?). Because the one in May is for moms of human children!