Last spring, after years of dog allergies, I found the perfect, hypoallergenic puppy and immediately took him home. Before I became a dog owner, I was annoyed by people who would refer to themselves as "mommy" or "daddy" when referring to their relationship to a canine. A dog is a dog, not a human, and should be treated as such. But from the moment I took little Cooper out of his cage at Petland, he was mine. Perhaps it was the fact that he was half-price, or that he licked my face (another thing I swore I would never let happen!), but I loved him instantly.
Cooper and I take regular trips to Thornberry Dog Park, where he runs with other dogs under 18" tall. I let him off his leash and sit with the other "mommies" on a doggie play date. And, like moms whose children have opposable thumbs, the conversation centered on toy safety and potty training tips.
Last night, as he chased and sniffed and performed other dog rituals, I found myself watching and worrying. Do the other dogs like him? Why isn't Cosmo the Cockapoo playing chase with him? Why is he running along the fence all alone? Is he happy? I realized that I wanted him to be a cool kid on the playground, and to be cool involves being in the thick of the pack. For the next 45 minutes, I obsessesed over Coopers socialization. Surely dogs need validation from the pack to feel accepted and valued, right? Or, should I be proud that he is confident enough to run on his own, discovering all kinds of leftover scents along the perimeter?
Thankfully, before I obsessed any further, I looked up to see him engaged in a full-blown game of "Who's the Dominant Doggie?" I sat down and watched him play until he ran up to me, signaling that he was ready to go home. Good boy!
No comments:
Post a Comment