A Dog named George

The kids, like every other kid on the planet, want a dog. A nice fluffy little pint-sized lap-dog that smells of daises and never makes a sound. Having been down that route with a terrier that lived 16.5 years, 4.5 past the normal life expectancy for his breed, I knew what having a dog was really all about and did my best to explain to the family why I didn’t want one and they shouldn’t want one. 

They were not persuaded and have continually pestered me. My youngest was particularly persistent and the issue caused a bit of a family crisis when, frustrated, I snapped, "You can't keep your room clean. How are you going to care for a dog"! She stomped off to her room, furious and crafted a note to her mother: 

"Mom, I'm sorry I can't keep my promise to live with you forever, because I can't live with Dad"!

I relented, conditionally. They could have a dog, but only after I was dead. To my surprise, they didn’t seem too upset. To my dismay, they began researching dogs and intensified the search every time I felt a bit under the weather. Seriously, a cold would result in the two youngest rushing to a laptop to search for pets on Craig’s list. They, with the help of my dear equally wanting a dog wife, even named the eventual pet, “George”. I fail to see the humor.

Why Did Mom have to take Your name Dad?

It’s a fair question, “Why do many if not most moms change their surname to their new husband’s”? my youngest daughter, aged 9, asked. As the youngest of four, I’d heard this before and had the answer ready. 

“When you hear a noise at night, who gets up and checks?” I asked. 

“You do” she replied without hesitation, somewhat confused that this was even a question.

“And if there’s a spider in the room, who kills it”, My 14 years old added.

The realization of privilege and responsibility hit her as she responded, “ohhh”. 

Daya sat quietly by with one raised eyebrow and a bit of a smirk.

I’ve been doing all the heavy lifting and killing more spiders than I thought existed since then. The usual scenario unfolds as,

Daya: George Spider!

George: “So kill it”.

Daya: I’m a Constance

George:  “Crap”as I get a magazine to kill the insect.

Daya: “The garabage has to go out and it’s raining”!

you get the idea.

Post script:

Lats night I was in bed, baely clothed and nearly asleep when my youngest, now 10, shouted spider. Daya shouted “George”. George moaned, “I’m freakin in bed. Kill it yourself. 

Moments later, I heard a few whacks from a flyswatter. Daya climbed into bed a minute after that declaring she and the kids were all changing their names to Patel, her surname.