The pet question

We were driving back to the house after a doctor’s appointment, when Harry asked, “Mom, when we get our new home, can we get a dog?”

We talk about leaving Grandma’s house sooner than later, and having our own home where we would make our own rules and decisions. Living in someone else’s home, as I’ve explained to Harry about living in Grandma’s, you are obliged to follow their rules. This would include Grandma’s “no pets” policy.

“I would love for you to have a dog, Sweetie. What kind of dog would you like to have?”

There was an instant smile on his face and his voice grew excited.

“A golden retriever!”

“Hmm, a golden retriever, huh? Why a golden retriever?”

“Well, honestly, Mom, I don’t know much about a golden retriever.  I just like the way the name sounds.”

“Golden retriever,” Harry repeated.

I’ve pictured Harry running around the yard, his dog following at his heels. Stopping, breathless and falling into a heap on the grass, his dog on top of him, excited, licking his face and then barking out his happiness.  And for some reason, I’ve always pictured a Lab. Chocolate, yellow or white, but always a Lab.

My imaginings of Labradors may be due to our friends, Allison and Barry, who have owned and loved a succession of amazing and beautiful white Labs, all rescue dogs.

“What about a Lab? A chocolate Lab?  Chocolate Labrador! Doesn’t’ that sound neat?”

And I went on to explain, “There are white Labs, yellow Labs and chocolate Labs.”

“It does sound cool! … A chocolate Labrador!” Harry repeated it several times.

Having decided on the breed of our (for now) imaginary dog, the conversation continued to the inevitable question: “What would you name your dog, Harry?”

He thought long and hard. I mean, really long…

To spur the process on, I explained, “It should probably be something that would be easy to yell, you know, when you call him? And actually, there’s another question – Would you want a male for a female dog?”

“I think a boy.” He quickly answered.

Harry has longed for a play companion, and I’ve had to explain more than once why I just couldn’t give him a brother or a sister. A complex topic, not really easily explained to a now 8-year-old.

But shouldn’t every kid have a dog? Especially an only child?

Kids with dogs have fewer cases of allergies and asthma. In fact scientists have found that kids who grow up around dogs are 50% less likely to develop allergies and asthma than kids who grow up without a dog. It makes for a sturdier immune system.

Kids with pets also demonstrate improved impulse control, social skills and self-esteem. And certainly therapy dogs (and an attempt to take a peacock on a plane) are evidence that cuddling a pet reduces stress, loneliness and anxiety.

Pets are a source of companionship and give us (not only the child, but the family) emotional support and can lead to a child’s positive emotional development.

And then there’s the sense of responsibility, being the caregiver for another living thing.  Making sure the dog is fed, watered and exercised.  Harry has a big heart and would be a good dog owner and I’m certain that he could run circles around any dog when it comes to exercise and expending energy!

We (my brother, my sister and I) had a dog when we were growing up.  I remember when my dad came to the house to deliver it and in fact, it’s one of very few childhood memories that remain vivid with detail. I would guess I was around 6 years old; my sister 8 and my brother just 2.

A mostly black furry ball was hidden in my dad’s arms as he walked onto the porch. I was there waiting for him, which I imagine having done a lot after my parent’s divorce. Dad revealed his surprise – a puppy.  He bent down for me to touch it and leaned in to whisper his name in my ear.  I vaguely remember that it was so my brother and sister could guess the name that only I had been told. I didn’t hear him the first time or just didn’t understand it, so he repeated it a second and a third time. 

Dandy was a good dog, living to a ripe old age before he left us. I remember him always there…a part of our family.

I’ve told Harry that story a few times and repeated it now to keep the conversation going.

“So, what do you think, Harry?” I asked. “What would you name your dog?”

“Stephen Hawking,” was the name that came from my scientist’s lips.

And so it will be:  Harry, Stephen Hawking and me – a family.

 

"This dog just loves me!"
Harry played fetch with a dog at a hilltop farm during a cousin's birthday party for nearly an hour.