No matter how you calculate his age, it’s still a parental dilemma. Otto is both a toddler in his “terrible twos”, and he’s also an “early year teenager” (14) in human years. This week he reminded me of how he is both.
On Monday morning, I had an early morning dentist appointment. I took Otto both for a walk and to the dog park, so that I could get him back home and situated before heading out. Right before I was ready to head out the door, Otto got an unusual case of separation anxiety. He would not let me leave, as he blocked the front door, and then he would not leave my side. It was like he was trying to protect me from something. When I was able to get out of the front door, he decided to rebel like an angry teenager and tried to escape – by charging right at me, knocking us both over down the front steps.
After deciding to drop him at daycare (and arriving late to the dentist), I took a few moments to think (and chill) over what happened. When I picked Otto up after work, I found myself in complete “parent mode.” Otto and I have a ritual that we walk around the block at daycare before getting in the car to come home. As we walked, I started talking to him, as I’m thoroughly convinced that he understands me. I remember the conversation word for word:
“Otto, I was really disappointed in how you behaved this morning, as both of us could’ve gotten seriously hurt. But you know what? No matter how much you upset me, you’ll always be my Floof.” I could practically see my mom smiling from above.
Dogs give us unconditional love…they also remind us of the importance of unconditional love. I treated Otto to a ride home in the convertible, as he’s getting more and more comfortable to riding with the wind blowing through his floof. Although I’m still a little sore from the tumble, I’m thankful that the experience was such an important life lesson.
Hopefully the only things that Otto and I see falling going forward are the leaves.
One thought on “the dog days of autumn.”
That’s a real nice Otto you’ve got. My wife just rescued an Otto of our own, a little orange tabby. He hasn’t knocked me down the steps but he’s great at tripping me up by running under my feet. No matter, though. I love him even when he bites me on the toes. We’re lucky.
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