Childhood Pets

As we near the end of summer my plan was to write about summer memories of camping. However, when we arrived home from our family camping trip we discovered that one of our dogs had passed away while we were gone. My youngest child was beside himself with grief. While this isn't his first childhood pet that he has lost, I think it is the most devastating. Our dogs have been with him his entire life, he has never not known a moment of his outdoor adventures without our dogs at his side. While we often considered this specific dog to be attached to our daughter, it is my son who seemed most affected by her passing.

But I don't want to dwell on death, but rather the memories made from having childhood pets. I know for myself, I have had pets in my life almost continuously. When I was born my parents had a dog named Lady. They had another dog before I was born, but we will save Max's story for another time.

I do not have memories of my own about Lady. In fact, I do not know what happened to Lady. What I have of this first childhood pet are the stories I was told by my parents. These stories were always told with the idea that Lady was the family protector. I think she may have been more jealous of my arrival than protecting.

My mom told me that from the moment I was brought home, Lady would sleep underneath me. If I was laid down in my crib, she was under my crib. If I was laid down in the cradle, she was under my cradle. If I was set on the couch, she was on the ground next to the couch. Both of my parents told me that if I cried or moved she would alert my parents; both claiming she was trying to take care of me and ensure my needs were met.

As a child I thought this was so neat that I had a pet from the very beginning of life. Not just a pet, but a protector, a canine protector who wanted me to be safe and cared for, like one of her own. I lived on theses stories often as a child. My parents divorced when I was young as I had not pets in either house until I was about five years old. That was the year that both parents brought animals into the house. I went from just stories of animals, to having animals of my own.

My mom brought home a kitten while I was at my dad's house. Over the phone she explained what the kitten looked like; white kitten with one brown ear and a patch around one eye. In my little head that sounded like Casper the ghost. I must have just been obsessed with Casper the ghost. Casper, in my adult memories, was a great cat. Strangely, I do not have many memories other than pictures of me holding Casper. But I do remember that having Casper came with responsibility of feeding and caring for another being.

My other childhood pet was a dog at my dad's house. I remember that my step-mom made me her accomplice in obtaining said dog. She talked up getting a dog with me, telling me how great it would be to have one around the house, and how it would be fun to have a dog. And then she told me that I should tell my dad all this, and that I wanted a dog. I remember asking her why I should do this. Her words to me were essentially, if you ask he won't say no. I have very vivid memories of going to a pet store, and being overrun with puppies. And then one pee'd on the ground. Next I remember sitting in the back of the car with a puppy in my lap and asking "This isn't the one that pee'd on the ground is it?" My dad responding with a yes, and I let out a grunt of disapproval. That little dog was a great dog, and a great childhood pet. She lived for what seemed like my entire childhood and into adulthood. Whenever I went to my dad's house, there she was, and like I had never left, she would sleep on the bed with me, follow me everywhere, and was like having a best pal always. I never had to worry about anything because Ginger was there, always at my side.

I think these are the stories that my son will have with his first dog loss. Memories of her always at his side. We still have another dog, and he is a goofball of goofballs who will continue to follow my son around in everything he does. But I also know that our dear Pooka will be a memory for my son, one that may even be a source of stories he tells as an adult, or the reason he decides to keep animals in his life. Although, animals in his life could come from the fact that his mother is obsessed with animals and would run a farm if she could.