My daughter-in-law and son are expecting. My wife Barb and I are more thrilled than I am going to be able to express. Our grandchild is due mid-February. Kind of close enough to make me nervous about missing the Superbowl but you can't plan everything.
I know my kids and their spouses have paid attention to how badly we spoil dogs around here and I hope they don't do it but if they think for 60 seconds about how it is probably going to go for grandkids at grandma and grandpa's house they will change their names and move to Wisconsin, not leave a forwarding address and only show up unannounced here on random holidays, reunions and funerals.
Our grandchildren are going to be so spoiled it will be a full time parental job convincing those kids they are not really princesses or supermen.
A lot of guys will tell you that in their next life they want to be their wife's dog but I don't think anyone can mean it more sincerely than I do. Every dog we have ever owned has had what the vets call "separation anxiety." I call it ripping out your screens, scratching your doors to splinters and other assorted property damage but the proper term is apparently separation anxiety.
It results from spoiling them so badly they can't stand to be left alone.
Barb always feels bad when we make the dogs so insecure they have to tear our house up wishing we were there. She cuddles them and tells them it's alright and gives them dog treats. I try and think of ways to get them to hang out behind the car long enough to back over them. It's probably not me causing their separation anxiety.
In my head every dog we've had has had my wife's voice. Undoubtedly because she talks to them all the time and answers her own questions for them since we so far have been unable to teach one to talk. She feels it is her duty to interpret the emotions of our dogs since they can't verbalize for themselves.
There is actually a term for this. It's called anthropomorphism. Look it up. And when combined with cuddling, tummy-rubbing, kissing and spoiling it creates separation anxiety. It has worked effectively on the 4 dogs we've had and me over the last 36 years and I am certain it is going to work on our grandchildren.
I am not without blame in the ruining of perfectly good dogs at our house. When no one is looking I pat them and coo at them too. Being a guy I seem to be as easily amused by throwing a ball as dogs are by chasing them. It wasn't always this way, but our current pet--a golden retriever--has trained me pretty well. When we first got her (sort of inherited her actually, but that's a long story) her relentless fascination with fetch drove me crazy. Somewhere along the line I have come around to finding it endearing and we will play fetch until both of us need a rest to deal with the arthritis.
You've probably all heard the old joke about if you want to see who your best friend is put your wife and your dog in your trunk for three hours and see which one is glad to see you when you let them out. My kids have adapted a different version of this joke in which the dog and I would be put in the trunk for three hours and let's see who Mom would be happiest to see when she let them out.
My kids are soooo funny.
Our house has become something of a dog kennel as well. I would call it a zoo, but Barb prefers kennel. Both of our kids have two dogs each, which may or may not contribute to global warming--I have a hard time following the latest arguments. I cannot tell you the last time we have seen our kids without their dogs. At every family gathering there are a minimum of five dogs ranging in size from Marley The Mountain Puggle to Bob and Barkley the Bernese mountain dogs. There is also Zoe the all white German shepherd, and of course Sadie the golden retriever, and sometimes niece Jess' beagle Sopho.
In Westminster you actually need a kennel permit to have five dogs or more at your house. Good thing our son is a Westminster cop.
Often, at our own urging, the dogs vacation here while their owners are away. On a staggered schedule it actually seems odd when there is only one dog here. And they all get plenty of attention.
Barb cannot be spread too thin when it comes to making anyone or anything feel welcome in our house. And Russ has told me, "Dad, you act like you don't like them but we've been in the basement for hours listening to you talk to the dogs like they were kids."
Busted.
You don't have to look far to find a dog to pat and cuddle or to bring the ball back for you.
So how do you think it's going to go for real kids? Barb will be wonderful, blah, blah, blah. But even I see this as an opportunity to right all the wrongs I inflicted on my own children. I wish I had been more patient as a father. I'm thinking since you get to give grandkids back when you are done with them that my breaking point may be harder to reach. And I can't even tell you how much I look forward to the hours of knee-slapping fun watching my own offspring deal with the jaw-dropping, bewildering antics of mini-me behavioral issues.
When Russell and Brittany were growing up I had all the words to Yertle The Turtle memorized so I could tell the story at bedtime without having to hog the book. I have begun practicing again and by February I should have it down. Is day one too early to introduce a baby to Dr. Seuss? Maybe, but certainly not Ronald Reagan. My grandchild's conservative indoctrination will begin almost immediately and by kindergarten they will be able to write a term paper of the victories and accomplishments of President Reagan.
I'm not sure that a thorough knowledge of Ronald Reagan and Yertle The Turtle will be that much of a leg up in today's public education system. You know how those liberals hate Yertle.
At any rate, I am so excited about our pending grandchild. I am still not used to saying, "I'm going to be a grandpa," out loud but I have time. I don't look in mirrors often, mostly out of self defense, so it is quite a shock to realize I have arrived at this point of my life.
My goodness. I'm about to be married to somebody's grandmother.
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