This is all about Regina, the little mini-Schnauzer I bought for my daughter nearly two years ago after we made the move from Georgia to Louisiana. Every day when I get home from my job at the library, Regina greets me as though I just returned from a three-month tour of the Antarctic, wriggling all over, jumping as high as she can to reach my arms, whimpering and licking my face all at the same time.
I initially bought her for my daughter because, besides promising Lesley a dog of her own for several years, I also did not want the dog to be mine, thinking that fine distinction would keep me from caring too much or getting emotionally involved, yet again, with a canine. I pretend to be annoyed, instead of vastly entertained, when I am trying to vacuum and she reacts to the racket by violently barking at the offending machine and snapping at it as though it were a prehistoric monster invading our home.
Alas, too late for pretenses. This little dog has already claimed me as her surrogate "grandma" and has me eating out of her paw, so to speak. We have had to rescue her twice from death already, once from parvomyelitis after we had her only a few days, and another time last year from a horrific bout with hemorrhagic gastroenteritis, which had her bleeding from both ends. Good grief, where did THAT come from, I frantically asked the vet? I was told something as everyday as a violent thunderstorm could set off such an illness, but thankfully, $645 later, she recovered. We've had to spend more than $2,000 on her already between her illnesses, spaying operation and periodic grooming, but I don't regret keeping her alive and well, for the sake of everyone involved, not just Regina.
On the surface, I still pretend for my daughter's sake that Regina is HER dog. This is to get Lesley out of the house via walking her pet, and keeps Lesley on top of food bowl duty. Regina also sleeps in Lesley's bed at nights and it's up to her to handle most of the baths and poopy accidents.
But when it gets down to who the little dog really likes to hang out with, and who she likes to play fetch with, and who is the softest touch for dispensing multiple doggy treats, well, that would be me, Grandma Barb, who lets the dog order her around and even gets her to crawl on her hands and knees in the garage retrieving doggy golf balls lodged beneath lawn mowers etc., who cleans her little furry face everyday and scratches her ears and neck just right, and feeds her tidbits off her plate when she knows she's not supposed to. (shhh!)
I never tell my daughter the dog really belongs to me because that would break her heart, but we all know who her "fave" is. And I really wish it weren't this way as I never wanted to care this much about another dog as long as I lived, knowing how hard I will take it should anything happen to her.
But I know there are risks attached to every relationship, times of separation and times of being together, and the memories I am making now with my daughter and her beloved Regina will be with me always.
It is my sincere hope that no matter what, Regina will always be with us, both here and hereafter. I truly believe dogs belong to humankind as much as individual humans, like mothers and daughters, belong to each other, and the great thing that binds us all is love.
