Thursday, November 15, 2012

The truth about cats & dogs

My boy lost a molar last night. He's 10 and ye still believes in the tooth fairy. Is this a normal thing? I gotta wonder. I think I knew about this type thing before I was 10. I remember testing the theory... I lost a tooth but didn't tell anyone. The next morning I told my mom and remarked in my best elementary-aged dramatic way (think Ralphie in The Christmas Story) about how surprised I was that the tooth fairy never came. A look was exchanged between my mom and my sister; a knowing nod as my sister slipped away from her soggy Kix with a vague "Oh... I forgot... something..." as she tore up the stairs to toss a quarter into my pillowcase. When she came downstairs, mom said, "Why don't you look again? Maybe you missed it the first time?" And that's how I learned the tooth fairy didn't really exist. The rest of these mythical creatures fell like dominoes after that.

This morning as we were getting ready for the day, I asked if Tony had taken care of the duty (he had the dollar; he put the boy to bed), but he had not. He did a quick recon in the sleeping child's room but could find no tooth. So when the sleepy boy rolled out of the bed, sleepy-eyed and groggy, daddy asked about his tooth and he was suddenly alert; his face a little shocked when he came out of his room holding the molar encased in a small bag.

"Your dollar is on your placemat; the tooth fairy woke us up because she couldn't find your tooth. She asked us to keep it for her, she had to rush off." The story came fast, the confused look continued as this story seemed to fly in the face of the subterfuge I've carefully built over the years about the inner workings of the tooth fairy. I'm hoping he was still too groggy to fully grasp the impact. A month before Christmas is no time to start questioning mythical creatures, after all.

And then we're sitting at breakfast. My daughter passes gas, quite loudly. A few seconds later, she exclaims, "Oh my gosh, what is that smell!?" as she completely freaks out. Uh, hello, little girl? You just farted. "Oh yeah." Too bad we don't have a dog to blame it on.

Which brings me to the NaBloPoMo Prompt of the Day: Tell us about your favorite pet.

I had pets as a child. An amazing dog named Zipper (half sheepdog, half poodle, black with a white stripe from his chin down his belly, looked like a zipper) and a Siamese cat named Cocoa. They were awesome pets to grow up with. Our family had had dogs prior to Zipper, but he's the first one that I remember. I had other pets. Grass snakes. A chameleon. Never a hamster though I wanted one desperately and my BFF across the street had one (I lived vicariously through her in many ways). But Zipper was the perfect pet.

Lady strikes a pose. She knew she was a pretty dog.
Pretty amazing.
I tried to recapture the magic of that black and white dog, and struck gold again when we rescued Lady from the shelter in DC in November of 1995. She was a great dog and we gave her a very spoiled existence. She cuddled on the couch, slept in our bed, ate table scraps, drank bottled water. She traveled with us to Germany and explored castles and countryside. But when we returned back to the states, her life caught up with her and she went into organ failure. She died shortly after my son was born.

Two other dogs have come since, but they couldn't measure up. Or we weren't the right family for them. So now, we have a turtle. Her name is Gamera (after the monster movie turtle of the same name) and she's pretty fearless. I told the kids that nothing that poops is allowed to live in our house until they are responsible enough to take care of it; as a mom of two tween kids, my doody duties are done.

I'm allergic to cats but we're leaning toward a possible "allergen-free" cat, hopefully one that's declawed so as not to shred my leather couch. And thankfully we can rely on our friends and family with pets when we need a fuzzy snuggle.

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