THE FAMILY DOG

Part of our mobile military existence involves the ever-debatable topic of the family pet. In our case, it’s “dogs r us — dogs or bust.” It's tough to maintain a consistent relationship moving around as we do; often having to place our dogs in the care of others until we're settled. We have a dog. She’s a chocolate lab named Chili. And she lives in Florida with my mom. She’s now Grandma MJ’s trusty companion, but we still talk about and refer to her as our own. In fact, we’re loading up the car this week and trucking 20 hours to visit MJ and Chili. My youngest daughter Gabby, when confronted recently with the fact we might not make the trip, exclaimed, “But I HAVE to see Chili!” Well okay, then. Off we go. Grandma understands.

We waited four long years to bring Chili into our family, and she is the only dog Gabby remembers. But Chili received the short end of the genetic stick, and before she was two, was riddled with arthritis, lost most of her sight, and her hearing was on the fritz. These are not good symptoms to carry while coping with the genuine but often suffocating affections of three young children. This was our second family dog I embraced upon sight and wouldn’t let go until she was safely at home with us. I’m told my jig is up. No more “let’s just visit” freedoms when it involves a puppy.

Our son and maybe our oldest daughter, who has the memory of an elephant, are old enough to remember our first beloved — Hoops, who was our “pre kid” canine, and she went everywhere with us. I have vivid memories of her riding gunshot 24 hours to Texas; I think taking in and enjoying the sights as much as I did. When the kids came along, she accepted her new side-car role graciously. Then we moved to England in 2002, and we opted to leave her with my sister vs putting her in mandatory six-month quarantine many miles away from our home, which was the law at the time. She didn’t make it through the four years we were away. So we lived in England and returned stateside without a family pet. This was soon remedied when I came across an ad for chocolate labs in the paper — my son named her "Chili." I grew up with Labradors. I have so many memories — good and bad — of life with and without them. One of the first recollections is playing in the barn with my yellow lab puppy when I was five or six-years-old, when a huge field fence came crashing down on top of her. This was my first cognizant experience of death, and I’m pretty sure it was my fault. But this is proof to me my kids are missing out by not sharing their early years with a pet. Dogs hold so much life for so many of us. A friend recently lost his “best buddy,” as he referred to him, and properly mourned his loss. I can totally relate. That’s just it — for many of us, dogs are heaven on earth, and there really isn’t an alternative that comes close to that relationship. I want my children to experience that. This is a critical time I think, for kids to bond to something other than to us — the human element. A trusty four-legged friend serves so many emotional needs, which are as individual as we are.

But two years into our latest move, we have no dog. I thought about becoming a “foster family” for dogs, but, again, we all know once a dog comes into my realm, I won’t let go easily. There is a certain lonliness in the house whenever I’m here alone, as I am now. But we also have freedom to pick up and leave for wherever at the drop of a hat. No worries of how to care for Fido during our (frequent) absences. Instead, we fill the empty space with discussions about dogs. What dogs we like, what dogs we don’t, and which dogs would fit best into our particular family. We cruise breed sites, watch The Dog Whisperer on The Discovery Channel, and my kids are quick to approach and befriend every dog they see. We all anticipate the time when we can bring a new family dog into the mix. Maybe our dog will find us. It’s happened before. I once adopted a Siberian Husky I named Luna, because she hung around my front porch for days staring at me with her soulful blue eyes, and no one ever came to claim her, despite my attempts to find her owner. And I don’t know if it’s true that dogs take on the look of their owners, or vice versa, but I sure do fancy a floppy eared hound dog who lopes around with those droopy sad eyes. Hopefully, this time, one who will PCS with us to wherever we go and be here to keep me company long after the kids PCS their way outta here, leaving me and the dog with our memories.