On Wednesday afternoon this week, at about 4:45, I randomly thought about the family dogs. There was nothing unusual about them popping into my consciousness for no apparent reason because they do so all the time. Funny pup pictures crop up in the family group chat almost daily, and our dogs’ antics and schedules are in the back of my mind constantly.
But this was different. I was supposed to have gone home during lunch to let the dogs out, and I had forgotten. The dogs are left alone two workdays a week, and Wednesday is my allotted day to drive home from the office to walk or play outdoors with them. Don does the same on Thursdays. Though the schedule is usually imbedded into my mind, I had neglected to put it on my calendar, and the pressures of the day had absorbed me completely.
I called Don and screeched to him that I had overlooked their care and that I was racing home to let them out. I was horrified. Images of frantic, distressed pups, and a house trashed with the remnants of my carelessness, filled my mind. I counted on my fingers the hours that had passed without a potty break – about ten – and drove home, teethed clenched, remorse and guilt obliterating my frustration over rush hour traffic.
I consoled myself that at least I hadn’t forgotten to pick up a child. I read recently that Hillary and Bill Clinton had, for a brief time, left daughter Chelsea at the Kremlin during a state visit to Moscow. Following their meeting with then-president Boris Yeltsin, they were rushed to the security of their limousine to be transported to the airport, before realizing that their daughter was not in the car with them.
I would never do something like that, as the safety of my children has always been paramount. Well, ok, so I once left middle son Andy at a soccer field when he was seven or eight years old and drove to a nearby town with Evan to join Don at 11-year-old Eric’s baseball game. But at least I abandoned Andy at a sports field in an affluent neighborhood, not in Moscow after conducting grave conversations about Bosnia, arms reduction, NATO enlargement, and international affairs. And to be fair, I did not completely forget about Andy; after a couple of innings, I looked at my husband and asked where Andy was. He turned to me with an expression just shy of concern, and said I thought he was with you.
The Clintons had assistants, planners, security detail and the like to assist them. I only had my mother, Grandma Shirley, who found Andy cheerfully wandering the playfields by himself. She scooped him up and took him to McDonalds. Afterwards, she showed up at the baseball field with Andy in tow, along with his Happy Meal, and announced that she had found Andy at the soccer field and thought it was a good idea to bring him with her. My mother was the queen of understatement.
I pulled into the garage at our house, jumped out, and hurried indoors, calculating the damage and hoping no one had pooped or peed on the new living room rug. I wondered what this event must have done to the dogs’ trust in me, how they must have worried and whined in my absence.
As I opened the door and entered the house, Boomer the Dog tippy tapped his way over to me, tail wagging happily. Bailey did not bother to greet me; she stretched lazily in her bed while she considered whether it was worth the effort to get up. She was certain that I would come over to pet her.
I hastily scanned the house for signs of canine relief and found none. As I rushed to open the door to the backyard, both pups promptly, if not eagerly, walked outside. Boomer trotted to his favorite potty spot, while Bailey dropped down and rolled around for a bit before retreating behind the bushes. A girl needs her privacy, after all.
Bailey and Boomer, like Andy, seemed to have suffered no trauma from neglectful parenting. That only leaves me: the somewhat-irresponsible human and dog mom.