EVERYTHING
FOR YOUR FAMILY
KID
QUIPS
“One night, my 3-year-old asked me if she could sleep in my bed. I told her no. She said, “That’s not fair! Why does Daddy get to sleep in your bed?” READ MORE
Single Parenthood
|
||||
|
Husbands come and go, but dogs are forever I finally caved in and told my kids we could get a cat. What a pushover, I know. But I did hold my “no pets” ground for a while. My reasons were quite clear. Or so I thought. First off . . . cats stink. I don’t want that litter-box-fishy-food smell that hangs in the air 24/7. Like some kitty forgot to flush the toilet. We’ve all been in houses like that. No, thanks. “We’ll change the litter box every day! Swear!” my kids countered. Secondly, there’s enough mewing (as you can see) and mouths to feed over here already. “Use our allowance, mom!” Tempting. OK, well . . . what about that cliché of becoming an old, lonely woman with 20 zillion cats? I could picture myself sitting in a corner, dazed, with cats crawling all over me, a milk stain on my upper lip. (Or maybe that was Catwoman in “Batman.”) “PLEEEASE!” The more demanding their pleas, the more ridiculous my reasoning. “No! Cats carry bubonic plague.” Well, it HAS been going around. Something to do with fleas and rats. Every storybook with rats always has cats in it. Surely they understood the connection. Then I had to face it. The REAL reason I didn’t want a cat was Higgins – my beloved cocker spaniel who died last year. Higgins had been a part of my life forever. The ex and I got him when we were dating. I was smitten from Day 1. (With Higgins, that is.) He crawled out from the bottom of a puppy pile, this tiny fur ball with red, floppy ears, and stood in the middle of a milk bowl for a quick lap. SOLD! The ex said our relationship changed after Higgins came along. Of course it did – I liked him better. Higgins was always there for me, during life’s biggest moments – my wedding, childbirth, the unraveling of my marriage, the divorce and my rebirth as a single mom. No matter how up and down my moods, his loyalty was unwavering. Whenever I was sad, he’d jump into my lap and console me with those compassionate brown eyes. Like that watch commercial said: “My husband isn’t around anymore, but my doggy is.” I took Higgins everywhere with me because he’d go crazy when I wasn’t around. The pet version of separation anxiety, I guess. He was so spoiled, my sisters called him “Hollywood Higgins.” His favorite game was playing hide-and-seek in the house. I’d throw a ball down the hall, and while he chased it, I hid. He’d run from room to room, howling, trying desperately to find me. It was hysterical. One night, the old man’s back legs gave out. When he tried to crawl to his food bowl, I knew his days were up. I swore I’d never drive my dog to his death. But the next day, I had to play executioner. And it killed me. As I handed him to the veterinarian, I looked into his tired, 16-year-old eyes – still so full of love – for the last time, kissed him on the nose and said: “Goodbye, Higgins. I’ll see you in Heaven.” I’ll never be able to replace my sweet doggy, who I now realize was the best friend I ever had. That’s why we’re getting a kitten. Senior Writer Lynn Armitage has added air freshener to her grocery list. |
||||
RSS Subscribe
Digg This ArticleSEARCH THE SITE
