Plays Well With Others

Lets face it. Just like children, pets can be the joy of our lives and the bane of our existence at the same time. To put it nicely, they don’t always act appropriately.

To Corky the French Bulldog, a human is somebody to jump on and lick, regardless of whether he’s sporting a tool belt, carrying a pizza box, or wearing a ski mask. Anyone who comes to the door is fair game. 

During our home renovations, it’s been a challenge to keep Corky safe, happy, and out of the contractors’ way.

When the construction crew arrives in the morning, Corky thinks, “Party time!” For me, the start of the work day means it’s time to secure the animals.

Mr. Bobo the Wonder Cat is not a problem. For weeks now, he has been confined during the day to our bedroom, where his food, water, and litter box keep him happy. After all, when you sleep all day, almost any warm place will do. If he gets restless, I open the door and toss in a dryer softener sheet, and he rolls all over it in ecstasy until it’s time for another nap.

Corky is something else again. She’s a bottomless pit of need. I’ve tried keeping her in my home office while I work, but she scratches at the door. We play tug-of-war, find-the-bone, and scratch-my-belly all day long, but she still cries about missing the good time that’s going on just outside the door. 

Finally, I had to get some work done. I put her in her crate, where I thought she could safely enjoy the action. The theory was that, like my son Jason who could amuse himself in the playpen while I cooked dinner or cleaned the house, Corky would contentedly chew on her bone and enjoy the hubbub going on around her.

She just barked louder.

Then I had a brainstorm. 

When Jason was four and his brother Tom was a baby, I decided to put him in pre-school (or “nursery school” as we called it then) so I could get something done. I dropped him off every morning, took Tom home, put him down for a nap and did the first of my three daily loads of laundry. If I was lucky, I had time to throw something in the crockpot before it was time to pick Jason up at noon.

A good solution for a harried Mom, you might say. But it took me months to get over my guilt. I thought I was a bad mother for wanting to get rid of my child for a few hours a day. As it turned out, Jason loved school. His teacher told me he was polite, played well with others, and was showing a talent for music.

I suddenly remembered this when I was at my wit’s end with Corky, and I promptly enrolled her in Doggie Day Care. I took her in at 8 a.m., where she greeted the staff with licks. I signed her up for group play and a snack and promised to be back at 6 p.m.

I walked out feeling slightly guilty but euphoric. I was free! Free to do my work uninterrupted! Free to come and go as I pleased! Free to spend quality time with Mr. Bobo!

When we picked her up that evening, Corky was glad to see us (but as we know, she’s rather indiscriminate with her affection). Her caregivers handed us a report card. It said she made lots of friends, took care of business, and napped like a champ. Under notes, they had written, “I just couldn’t get enough attention!”

No kidding.