This Post Was Probably Inevitable

I swear she's not on drugs ... as far as I know.

Let's just lay down the groundwork for what's to come. I am not my dog's parent. I am not daddy. I own the dog and I take good care of it, but I am not its parent. I understand that and you understand that.

Now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you how owning a dog is like having a kid. As a former live-in nanny for a newborn and a 2-year-old, I speak with some authority on the subject.

The day she learned to swim.

Owning a dog, a puppy in particular, is tough. I need some dog owners out there to back me up on this statement: It's a little like an accelerated version of watching a kid grow up. For example, when we picked up Daisy from a shelter in Tennessee in February, she didn't like being in her crate. Just like your 2-year-old, right?

She would bark in the crate at 5 a.m., ready to go out and play or, preferably, she would lay down in bed next to you for a while and get her breakfast. That was February and March. Then 5 a.m. became 6 a.m. That was April. Then it was 7 a.m. and so forth until now, when you seem to be waking her up from a deep slumber when you come downstairs, regardless of what time it is.

This from a 16-month-old dog.

It's rewarding, like I remember feeling as a nanny, to see the progress the dog makes. We're working on walking down the street without a leash on. She has to heel, standing directly next to me. At first, she would take off after squirrels. OK, she still does that. But she's getting better. And it's fun to hear neighbors commenting on her placid demeanor.

Duke (AKA Dukakis, AKA Jackass) was not like this. He was a typical boy labrador retriever, convinced he was the boss and wanting to do nothing but play and eat. Obedience? That was for other dogs.

Daisy is the other dog. TW told me last night that I had done an "absolutely excellent" job training Daisy. Truth is, I have nothing better to do, so the dog gets training. And, truth is, some dogs are a lot easier to train than others.

Three-quarters of my readers/friends-forced-to-click–on–this haven't made it this far. With good reason. Who wants to read about a guy and the love of his li ... er ... dog? Maybe it's a dog owner thing and maybe it's just me. In fact, I'm somewhat sure it's the latter. It's just me. I love watching the stages, as Daisy becomes a mature adult dog.

When she was a young puppy, she'd go on hourlong runs and get spazzier and spazzier throughout the run, zooming past me at Mach 5. Then she'd come home and bounce off the walls for an hour or so, playing with toys. Now, she still runs hard, occasionally, but after an hourlong run, she's done for the day. You'll hear a big sigh from her as she flops onto the floor. A groan as she pulls herself off the floor. She was so tired a few days ago that she just napped on the floor while I cleaned the upstairs of our house.

This is progress, people. This is what consumes my day-to-day life. Amy can't graduate PA school fast enough so I have something else to talk about.