It’s true. I think a woman’s first real mommy moment occurs when she gets her very first pet. Usually in the form of a cute little kitten or puppy dog, her maternal instincts kick in and this new precious animal takes on the persona of the “first child” almost instantly.
My first child was a pug named Eddie – or if you prefer - Eduardo. My husband and I picked him up one very cold snowy day in Chicago and after trekking to some far off suburb via public transportation we arrived only to discover he was the last puppy left in the litter.
Even Eddie’s pug parents sported this look on their fat faces like, “Get this asshole out of here! He is driving us crazy!” We thought, “Wow…nobody else wanted him. What’s wrong with this little guy?” We hadn’t gone all that way to come home empty handed so after a long walk around the block, we decided to take him home with us.
Oh, Eddie quickly became our first child. He slept in bed with us, his sausage-like body wedged right in the middle. We bought him little outfits and snow booties because he couldn’t possibly put his little puppy paws on the snowy sidewalks of Chicago. When we could, we would take him on vacations across the country in planes, trains and automobiles. And when we had to leave him at home with a babysitter, we pained over who was going to care for this sweet precious puppy. Would they love him as much as we did? Would he simply miss us too much while we were gone? We left long, detailed letters for the caregivers and even made frequent calls to check in on his mental health and general well-being.
Like any other “real” child, you learn to love your pet despite all of their little quirks – and Eddie has a few. His smashed pug snout makes it almost impossible for him to breathe. He snorts and sneezes like a pig splattering snot on your face, shirt and floor. When traveling in the car, he actually screams like a throaty, deep-voiced elderly woman and anyone in the near vicinity looks around in complete horror. And although we have hardwood floors throughout our entire house, he likes to hack up thick pukey food regurgitation on the only 8x10 area rug we have in the place. He can't see very well, but he sure has a nose for carpet. He’s gassy, obese, missing a handful of front teeth, and has this unusually large, somewhat protruding butt hole (quite unique for pugs) that regularly sports dingle berries after he uses the “restroom.”
Then, like any other kid, a new sibling comes along and the harsh reality sets in like a new coat of fast drying nail polish – you’re not the "only child" anymore – and even worse, your rank has been officially reclassified as the “family pet.” It’s hard to compete with that, and at some point, after three kids, Eddie stopped trying.
In fact, I hate to say it, but Eddie has a tendency to get overlooked – a lot. He has figured out all sorts of creative ways to ask for water. His first attempt included sitting by the shower or bathtub frantically licking at any leftover droplets that collected in the basin. But, eventually, that wasn’t good enough. I even found myself missing those clues.
His next was even less ambiguous. He would sit by his water bowl and chirp like a bird. Believe it or not, he has trained his bark to mimic a chirping bird. Amazing! But, sometimes that doesn’t even get my attention anymore.
Eddie has now discovered the only way he is sure to get his precious life-sustaining water supply is to simply hit me on the back, pull my hair, drag my ass to his water bowl and say, “aqua por favor.” Unfortunately, he’s just not that fluent in Spanish yet.
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