Brenna told the extended family yesterday that I'd given my grandmotherly love to a dog because none of her kids have popped her out a grandchild.
The dog in question is my new dog, Roxy. She's the Jack Russell Terrier in this picture.
She adores me. I walk into the house after a day at work and she runs up to me and gets so excited. The only other person she gets that excited about is Jesse. We don't really know why. She acts like a puppy with him, wagging her tail and jumping up to get into his lap. It's adorable.
Ninety-nine percent of the time it's all about me. And I love it. She watches my every move and gets to a place where she can be near me.
Just like I loved it when all three of my kids, when little babies and on into toddlerhood, watched me walk into their bedroom when perhaps they were awaken in the middle of the night. A little sleepy and scared, their eyes met mine and they knew that all was right with the world. It was as if the moon and stars hung at my command and all that was right and safe in the world was due to my command.
That complete awe and admiration begins to wane all too soon and when it does it is replaced with the disdain and contempt of adolescence.
Dogs love unconditionally. Sure, they are like perpetually, naughty five year olds, but is there really anything more endearing as a five year old? I taught kindergarten for a few years....I love five year olds.
So maybe it's true what Brenna says...but I'll tell you this: I can't wait to get home each day.
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