I am living in a house with a dog, now. When I got up at 6 am I could hear her growl, three floors below me. By the time I got to the second landing, she was right by my side, going down the stairs with me, and before I got the three sets of lights in the kitchen turned on, I could hear her lapping water.
Fine, I thought, but I am not feeding her.
Kiwi enjoying her 'kiwifood |
Rebecca put up February’s calendar last night and on the calendar there are places each day to check if certain jobs have been done, ie medication taken.
I added the appropriate symbols on the calendar and then thought that I am always hearing people ask, “Has Kiwi been fed?” I broke a long standing rule – living with the belief that taking care of the dogs is a job for boys -- and I told Rebecca I would feed the dog and put up a “D” on the calendar.
When Alex heard me he was incensed – “Don't call her a dog! Her name is Kiwi! She is part of the family. If you call her 'dog', then I am calling you 'human'!"
"Alright, alright. I am going to pick my fights and this is not one of them," I thought as I changed the “D” to a “K” on the calendar.
On the flip side, being called human isn’t that bad. I have been called worse.
The point of all of this is: when you join the ranks of those in the family so much so that all feel free to chastize you, for whatever reason, you know you are really part of that family.
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