The practice child

Now there are some parents out there that may take offense when we compare their baby to our dog. I can understand that. The danger of false equivalency is everywhere, to wit, were I to claim:

“I understand the pain of childbirth because my brother, on occasion, kicked me in the nads”

..would do nothing but guarantee a lifetime of me being afraid my wife will remind me of the pain of childbirth. But I digress.

Dogs are not children. We’re not crazy, or at least not that flavor of crazy. Having said that, Walter has in fact been a good sparring partner getting us ready.

• He wakes up at all hours of the night. I think once in the last 2 years I’ve actually heard my alarm go off. Otherwise it’s a 56 pound dog standing on my chest, whining to go outside, or on his more creative days, stealing our glasses of the nightstand. He knows what works.
• He stuffs truly disgusting things in his mouth, which sometimes, I just have to go elbow deep in dog slobber to get out. Dead birds, rotted food, anything pungent really.
• He cries for no apparent reason. Doesn’t want to go outside. Doesn’t want his food. Won’t play with his ball. Just cries.
• When thunderstorms hit, he crawls into bed with us.
• His medical bills come at the worst times, leaving us waiting at the Vet instead of out having fun.
• At the dog park in NY we try to set him up with friends when he’s too shy to play.
• In private we acknowledge how much better he is than other dogs.
  
  Now if he would only get in the Baby Bjorn…