I'm a really bad dog mom. Well, at least I am now that I'm Mom to Human child. Just ask my dogs. They'll tell you that the trips to the parks where they could run free and the walks that went on for hours and weren't limited by when they baby got tired of sitting in the stroller and their mugs announcing our good wishes on Christmas cards all went out the window the moment I pushed the baby out.
I swore it would never happen. Until it actually did, I never understood how it could. These furballs were are my babies.
And for all intents and purposes, they were much easier to handle than the real thing. No labor, dirty diapers, growth spurts, or opinions. They probably think I'm crazy for having crossed over to the Dark Side and took the perks with me.
Finnigan, the little terrier, is King of all Puppydom. Just ask him. He'll tell you. Just be sure to never directly look him in the eyes, always refer to him as Master and Commander, and that purse you're carrying had better damned well be for your own crap because His Royal Puppiness doesn't do the Purse Pal schtick.
Francis is the loyal servant. He tries too hard to please, still flinches when someone raises their voice for any reason, and always falls asleep on the bed with his tail wagging and a thankful sigh. It makes sense. I found him on a Detroit freeway with open wounds and a pinch collar embedded in his neck. Now, he's living the life. And he knows it.
Their relationship was built on tolerance. Specifically, Finn would tolerate Francis only because Finn knew that Cat loved Francis. Then we lost Cat. And when I got home from that horrible trip to the vet where I came home with one less dog, I found this furry little odd-couple calling a truce. They know that Cat's gone. They know they've only got each other now. And the extra unsolicted puppy kisses being doled out tell me that they're quite happy as part of my little pack.
Bad Dog Mom is now Thankful for What She Has Left.