Dogs Just Know

As readers of the first iteration of this blog (i.e., my closest and most bored friends and family members) may remember, the wife and I have two dogs: Beagle and Auxiliary Dog. We also have Cat, who does not really qualify as a pet so much as a nemesis who lives in my house and poops on my floor, and survives only because of my wife’s compassion and desire to avoid bloodshed. But this is not about Cat. This is about our dogs.

Our dogs have been suspicious that something is going on in our house for some time now. Perhaps it has been the cleaning frenzy my wife has been conducting as she “nests” (I understand this is the accepted term, and is in no way demeaning). Perhaps it’s the bonnets and baby clothes she has forced Auxiliary Dog to wear around the neighborhood (this is called “annoyance training,” and it is good for dogs who are about to be invaded by small, noisy, handsy rugrats). Perhaps its being driven to the vet in a child safety seat (this is just because it’s funny). We’ll never know what gave the game away, but the dogs know something is definitely up.

Beagle especially has been melancholy lately. He’s been wearing more eye makeup and black fur, and listening to a lot of Dashboard Confessional. It frankly has me a little concerned, but I guess he’s always been a little emo. When we’ve been upstairs, in what will soon be the nursery, Beagle follows us up to the landing and lays down outside, staring at us with baleful eyes that seem to say “you guys are screwing up my universe.” Poor emo Beagle.

I suppose I can’t really blame the dog. My wife and I both had interlopers in our own childhoods that made less than stellar impressions (sorry sis, you were lame that first year). My own experience with expecting a younger sibling caused me to make up stories about my imaginary friend Charlie -who was also expecting a new baby brother or sister in the immediate future- causing wanton destruction and running away from home. I did try to reach out with the olive branch, though, and invite my three day old sister outside to play when she was brought home from the hospital. Needless to say, things went downhill from there.

My beautiful, amazing, compassionate, and gentle wife was more direct and just pushed her infant sister off the bed a few months after she arrived and later convinced her that she was an alien from another planet. That’s right - any older sibling can take the “you were adopted” route. How many could pull off the Kryptonian fable?

We adjusted. After years of therapy, so did our younger sisters. Beagle will as well. After he gets over the fact that I threw away his Dashboard CD. Auxiliary Dog seems largely unaffected by the goings on, and has elected to simply stake out his small pocket of space on the couch against all current or future encroachment. Unless Beagle, Cat, or one of us humans want to sit there of course.