My oldest dog, Minnie Pearl, is the biggest daddy’s girl in the world. She just loves him. She likes to sit closer to him, sleep closer to him, howl and kiss with him, play with him. Sure, she is my friend when he isn’t around, but as soon as he comes through the door I don’t exist until he leaves. You might think I am just a terrible doggie mom. I must be the wicked doggie witch from the west. And yet I am not. I am always the one thinking of her, buying toys, dresses, treats. You might think I don’t spend enough time with her. I’m just a neglectful mother. And yet I am not. I stay home all day with her, as she sits in my chair, behind my butt. She only gives me 1/3 of the front of the chair, forcing me into a posture that pains my back but I never make her move. I take her outside all day, play with her, give her the ends off my lunch sandwiches.
When she is sick, who takes care of her? Her dear sweet daddy just says “oh, she’ll be fine,” while I am the one to rush her to the vet and save her from killer foot fungus and deathly caterpillar stings and the frequent allergy attacks from hell. The father she gives so much preference to didn’t even want to spend the money on her to see the doggie dermatology specialist – that bastard! And yet, she loves him unconditionally and with unbounded partiality. That bitch.
I fear this same fate with my child.