On your mark, get pets, GO!
This summer, when my second daughter had eight minutes free and nothing to do with them, she got her latest and most amazing idea. Her black-and-tan miniature dachshund, (which, in my opinion is somewhat ignored and occasionally neglected), apparently needs a little four-legged companion. I’m thinking, there are six kids in this house – can’t we lump them together and count them as three four-footed friends? My opinions around here are themselves often ignored and neglected. That’s why it’s so rewarding to inflict them on you.
Also, unless this new dog knows how to leash itself up and operate a pooper-scooper for itself and its padded-sole-mate, it sounds like more work for somebody. It might be disguised in a cute, furry, cuddly, tail-wagging, foot-licking body, but I guarantee you it is going to be more work. These little bundles of maintenance and expense come so cleverly packaged you don’t realize it until it’s too late. (My husband thinks this is true of kids as well.)
If we had not left California, we wouldn’t have had to get a dog in the first place. We had to get a dog when we moved to Ohio to take the place of the numerous rabbits we gave away.
That was the bribe to get the kids (just the four at that time). Yes, leave behind gorgeous, hilly, sunny, waterfront view Northern California for flat, family-oriented, but-it’s-green-in-the-summer Ohio. Every screenwriter is familiar with the safe and virtuous Ohio, because it is apparently listed as a valid synonym for “boring.”
Why did we start our pet experience with rabbits in California? I can’t recall exactly when our involvement with the Lagamorphs began. No, they weren’t our neighbors; it is the classification for hares, rabbits, and pikas. I know it’s in vogue to have reptiles and rodents as pets these days. But I was glad to see that scientists had made a breakthrough with their grant money. They bailed the long-eared creatures out of the Order Rodentia on account of upper teeth and arrangement of private parts and put them in their own order: Lagamorpha, which, in Greek, means “hare-shaped.” To keep the average you and me continuing to feel average, they chose this esoteric term because it sounds so much more important than my nominee, Order Flopsy-Mopsy-and-Cottontailia.
My daughters had been needling us about getting a pet, getting a pet, getting a pet. (Where did they pick up this annoying nagging habit, I wonder?) They had been practically waving data in our faces about how important it is for kids to have pets.
Our house often takes on a zoo-like atmosphere of its own, but that’s just due to our own kids. That reasoning did not satisfy them. The kids are my “pets,” and they needed theirs. My husband managed to get us a year’s reprieve on pure technicalities: he set up a fish tank with a couple of feeder goldfish. Why didn’t this man pursue a career in law?
Then came the clamoring for a mammal, a mammal, a mammal. My eldest son has numerous allergies, so dogs and cats were out of the question at that time. We decided on rabbits so they could be kept outdoors and brought in on occasion. We managed to prolong the wait by a few simple requirements (sometimes it can be so much fun to be in charge!): read several books on rabbit care; discuss their habitat needs, dietary requirements, and disposition to disease. Then save money to buy the pet, the cages, food bowls, first and last month’s rent, security and smoker’s deposit. Also, bring back the head of Medusa on a silver platter. This bought us another few months, but too soon for us, the grand day finally came for our girls.
We went to the local pet store that was part business, part petting zoo. The whole place had such a family feel to it. My daughters picked out their rabbits: a white one and a black one with a half-band of white on his neck and forepaw. The young man who made the sale was unable to determine the sex of the creatures. This seems to be a frequent problem with rabbits, and I’m not even going to say anything about the human species here. But did we let this small detail bother us?
The first few mornings the older three kids rose with the sun to marvel at their beautiful creatures. The two rabbits seemed to get along well. My second daughter wrote in the homeschooling newsletter that she named her rabbit Ollie, “which stands for Olive, which stands for Oliver.” Little did we know how unisex the names would need to be. My older daughter named hers Candie. Candie would eventually show HIS displeasure with this appellation.
My husband was willing to tolerate the creatures, so long as they did not cut into his dwindling leisure time. He said something to the effect of “the moment I have to raise a finger to do anything with those rabbits, I’m going to set them loose in the backyard and use them for target practice.” What a kidder, that guy! He just missed winning the Mr. Sensitivity award.
You’d never guess how often after that he donned rubber boots to help the kids with their rabbits. He built an enclosure under the stairs outside, made a table to keep them off the ground, and installed a plexiglass background to reduce the draft from the famous waterfront winds. The enclosed area was great when it was cold, but one afternoon we discovered that the temperature inside had hit 120 ºF with the famous California sun searing all day. The kids came to the rescue with frozen two-liter bottles to cool the rabbits down. Dismissing my designs (did I mention nobody listens to me?) for an octagonal hutch built around the pine tree in our backyard, he then built a six-foot long hutch to be kept under that tree. I guess my husband’s motto would have to be, “Speak loudly and carry a big stick...of lumber.”
Life was such an adventure with our lagamorphs. It was one of the best, most educational, and rewarding experiences we had together in our homeschooling years. And then, in a moment of weakness, I let the third child add a third rabbit to complete the trio in our happy home. That’s when the education and adventures truly began.
Which is why, when certain people who have lived through this now suggest that we add another animal to our chaotic crew, I do not hesitate. I laugh deliriously; I comment on the woeful plight of the current canine; I “Just say No.” Unless, that is, anybody out there is willing to give up a dog that can entertain, maintain, AND clean up after itself. And I’m not even sure if my kids can do that.