Soft spot for pets resurfaces

LIFE ON THE HOMEFRONT

A few years ago, I complained to my doctor about having trouble taking a deep breath. He asked me a bunch of questions, including one about pets.

I rattled off the list: two indoor cats, two guinea pigs, one toad and a large saltwater fish tank.

My doctor suggested that maybe the problem was the two cats, two guinea pigs, one toad and the fish tank.

Could be. But I was a softie for animals. I really liked having lots of God's creatures sharing our home with us.

Then came my second child. My soft spot hardened from exhaustion.

First to go were Squeaky and Sally, our guinea pigs.

They were cute and all, but guinea pigs like to eat and drink, and you know what goes in must come out. With an infant's worth of diapers to change plus a litter box and a large guinea pig hutch to clean, my hands had turned to scales due to excessive washing.

Squeaky and Sally went to live in classrooms at my daughter's elementary school where by all accounts they were clean and much-loved.

Then went the saltwater fish tank, my husband's baby. He, too, couldn't keep up.

Next went the toad, Lilly. She died peacefully, I like to think, in her water dish.

Then there were the cats. They were our babies before we had babies. First went Brandy and then Daisy, truly sad events for our entire family. We held tear-filled memorials before burying each in the back corner of our yard.

I cried. But I admit to some guilty relief.

Today, there are no litter boxes to clean. No fur clumps to vacuum. Only children beg for food and attention around here now. We do have a gecko and a tiny new toad, arguably the lowest-impact pets ever.

So you know where this leads.

My fourth-grader has tired of this pet reprieve. She wants a puppy. She needs a puppy. Everyone has a puppy except her.

She knows how to work me, so she explains about all the sad and lonely dogs at the SPCA shelter that desperately need good homes, if only someone would adopt them.

Like a glacier facing global warming, I feel a thaw in my icy heart.

Then come the promises. She will walk the dog each day. She will entertain it. She will scoop the poop.

I try to imagine this, given that making her bed apparently demands more spare time than she has to give each day.

My friend Elizabeth Cook, a James Island mother who's also wrestling with this ultimate of life's questions, recently e-mailed me.

"Many people say a dog is like a child, so there's the opportunity for growth from unconditional love and us all having to adjust a little for this other living thing," she wrote.

I'm all about love and adjusting for each other.

But what if it barks? Chews my couch? Sheds all over?

"I'm not sure if our family can handle one more thing that has needs," Elizabeth adds.

Bingo!

Still, I do want my daughter to be happy and have her life's every desire fulfilled. So I explain we already have a puppy. His name is Wesley.

Wesley is her 4-year-old brother. He's a puppy minus the fur and tail.

When you open the door, he races gleefully outside and doesn't always come back when you call him. He jumps up on people and bugs them incessantly when he wants to play. If you leave him unsupervised too long, he will destroy something.

He digs holes in the backyard. He climbs on furniture. When he gets in trouble, he looks up at you with these wonderfully innocent brown eyes that make you forget, almost.

And, like a puppy, we must train this little guy. We are teaching him to catch and throw a football (fetch), to settle down when told (sit) and to stay near us when we're outside (heel).

He even required house-training. Sure, he used diapers instead of newspapers, but the process was no less taxing.

My daughter doesn't buy it, of course. She complains that her brother only annoys her and hogs people's time and attention.

Nothing like a puppy, I'm sure.

Contact Jennifer Berry Hawes at 937-5743, jhawes@postandcourier.com or at Features Department, The Post and Courier, 134 Columbus St., Charleston, SC 29403.

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