Getting the doing part done has proven a bit more of a challenge than I thought it would be. The month of May began with me relaxing on the beach with a friend in Galveston. Little more than a text message, poor communication, and one kid’s return from college later, I had derailed into old patterns faster than a speeding bullet. My youngest son, Blake, arrived home with his new puppy, Daisy, in the early hours of a Saturday morning, and by Monday, I had already turned down a path that wasn’t on my map a few days earlier. Big diversions come in small packages.
Before I get much further, let me clarify that I’m not blaming or justifying my actions in any way. I made a choice. I had every intention of making my son be the responsible party for his new bundle of fur and energy, but the truth is that he was no more ready to parent Daisy than he was a new baby. And, when he got a job and was gone all the time, the caretaker in me stepped up to the plate. Before I knew it, I was raising Daisy, not so much for him, but for her. She was in our home now, and I saw that she was very smart. I wanted her to grow into a “good” dog, and I also had a home and my sanity to protect! Puppies are puppies, and she was a puppy with a capital p.
I dove into my role as Nana to Daisy, and like young mothers who find themselves overwhelmed with the responsibility of caring for a newborn or toddler, I slipped into early mornings, play dates at the dog park, games of fetch, and any number of other activities that would result in sweet Daisy’s exhaustion and sleep. I gave up morning showers, makeup, and styling my hair knowing that all such efforts were wasted energy when I would only be returning to play outdoors to sweat it all off again. My baseball tan returned as dog park tan, and shadows of an old self lived again. Ponytails, flip-flops, and workout clothes were my uniform, and at day’s end, I was ready to hand off the puppy to anyone that would take her so that I could get a break. I had all the markers of young motherhood, but at 53 it came off looking like I was just a slacker. I am sure my friends and family were beginning to wonder about the changes in me.
Anyway, the months passed, and I gave them up to the care, training, and love of Daisy. Sometimes I hoped that Blake would decide he’d made a mistake so I could keep her when he returned to school. But, in my heart of hearts, I knew that in spite of our bond, she was clearly his dog. It was as if she knew that he was the one that had saved her from an uncertain future. Her joy when he walked into a room was palpable. She wagged her tail so hard that her bottom swayed with it causing her to waddle as she met him on the front steps of our living area for cuddles and kisses. I knew she loved me, but she loved him more.
In mid-August I moved my boy and his dog back to school in Mississippi to figure out their new life together. It’s been tough on all of us, but each day it gets better. Always reflecting, I look back on the summer now and understand that Daisy came into our lives as much for me as she did for Blake. Only he will ever know her significance in his life, but for myself, I am beginning to see that she taught me about the need for reasonable boundaries when it comes to giving myself up to the needs of others. She taught me that sometimes I have to say no, sometimes I have to put myself first, and that “getting the doing part done” will only come when I understand these things. Who would have ever thought that such profound lessons would come in the guise of a 9-pound ball of black fur?