My kids have not had children—yet, but recently I have noticed the definite signs of Grandmother-dom. Kids have flown the coop and dang it, I am not yet blessed with human grandchildren. The silence would be deafening—if not for the dogs.
I have had dogs all my life. As most anyone will tell you, training and consistency are the hallmarks of a well behave, pleasant to be around canine. So too, I have always been consistent in training my dogs. High expectations of compliance have been what I’ve lived by…until now.
My name is Christine London and I am a doggie grandma. Yes, I have granddogs. There. I said it. Is there a twelve step group I can join to confess this truth?
I spoil. Dang it—I even go so far as to encourage the breaking of doggie table manners—101.
Basset Hounds and Golden Retrievers – past who have shared the surname of ‘London’ have always remained either beneath the table, snoozing, or at a distant from the dining area whilst humans were partaking in food consumption.
I confess. I have turned into a grandma.
Grandmas are allowed to, even expected to, buy their grandchildren toys and sweet treats far outweighing reason. Gluttony in the name of Grandma’s right to spoil is one of the nicer things about having reached the esteemed age and high office of the elder. We are supposed to be allowed–at least tolerated, as we feed our grand kids three scoop ice cream cones topped with gummy worms, sending them home spinning like the Tasmanian devil to their chagrined parents. Right?
As my Golden Retriever nudges my arm from beneath the table, providing her muzzle as a sort of ‘arm-pit mouth’; I spear a small piece of broccoli and chicken, knowing full well any dog mother would be mortified at what is to come next.
Yes. Golden Kiki opens her mouth in a dainty ‘O’ and turns on the canine vacuum, cajoling the morsels from my tines into her mouth. No one really noticed, did they?
Truth be told, I wouldn’t care if they did, because I have officially reached the age and status to do such things and attribute them to having joined the esteemed ranks of grandmother-dom.
So as I offer my teacup Yorkie, sitting on my opposite side, a bite-sized piece of baked chicken as he stares, on high alert, from his pillow on the chair next to me, you will indulge me right?
I am, after all, a grandma now.
Read more from Christine London on her blog