Pet for a Day

The girls really, really, really, really, really, really, really want a pet. At this stage in our family life, I am saying "No" to all pets. As we mothers all know, regardless of impassioned promises, pet care always becomes Mommy's responsibility. I know what I can handle, and my plate is full. I've told Amanda and Elisabeth they are getting a baby instead of a pet, and they should be happy with that. So, once again, that is a big, fat "NO!" to all pets:

Dog: If we got another pet, it would be a dog. Todd and I both love dogs. I know dogs are the most work, but they also bring the greatest rewards: they're cute and furry; they live a long time; they're very affectionate; they love to play. However, dogs also need to be potty-trained, taken outside, walked, groomed, and cared for by a vet. I sometimes actually believe a puppy is more work than an infant, because they come with teeth and claws and full-body hair, and their messes are not contained in diapers. Plus, I still miss our Eisenhower terribly, and cannot imagine replacing him. I told Amanda I would consider a dog when the baby (child in-utero, not Benjamin) goes to school.

Cat: I am highly allergic to cats. Also, I find them creepy. The kids can play with the cats at Grandma's and Aunt Lisa's houses. We will never get a cat.

Rodents and Reptiles: This kind of pet seems pointless to me. They require feeding and maintenance, but offer no payback. Even as a child, I was ultimately relieved when our guinea pig, Randy, died. That thing ate plastic.

Fish: Nope, not even a fish. When we had our family picture taken, Amanda asked the photographer's assistant whether she could buy one of the fish pond koi off of him for $5. We had a fish once, but even that was a big pain. I'm the one who had to remember to feed it and clean the bowl. And I'm the one who had to wipe the tears and say the eulogy when the fish went belly-up.

The girls exercise their animal instincts by trapping critters in the yard-- caterpillars, worms, whatever they can find. This weekend, it was a frog. They had Grandpa catch him and put him in a Mason jar, and then they took turns carrying him around. I'm amazed the thing survived for the one day we had him contained. He weathered earthquakes whenever Ben got hold of the jar, hailstorms of debris from Libby who insisted on shoving small twigs and pebbles through the holes in the lid (later, I would hear her muttering to herself, "Good thing I put those sticks in there...") and attempted force-feedings from Amanda who could only catch dead box elder bugs to feed the frog. They named the frog Spotty, and I agreed he could stay in our house for one day before being returned to the wild.

And, yes, the frog still ended up being a bigger burden on me than on anyone else. I awoke at 2 a.m. because I heard a strange noise. It continued intermittently, so I got up and walked around our house-- inside and outside (brilliant, I know--) to investigate. Finding nothing out of order, I went in the den and woke Todd, who had fallen asleep on the couch. "Will you come to bed?" I asked. "I keep hearing noises." He crawled upstairs and had just snuggled in when I heard it again. "Did you hear that?" I whispered. "It sounds like metal rubbing against metal. Or maybe it's air in the pipes..." We were quiet till the sound came again. Detective Todd didn't even have to raise his head off the pillow: it was that darn frog, trying to croak and hop his way to freedom.

p.s. The photo for this post was taken from the website of Winterhaven Farms, the home of the breeders who sold us Ike. If you are ever looking for a Cavalier-- the cutest dogs ever-- we recommend them.