The first time we left Luke with anyone, he was not quite a month old and the people with whom he was left were his grandparents. The first time we left him with a non-family member, he was a little over a year. Both of those times--and all the times in between--I didn't worry about him. I didn't think he would be inconsolable. (Well. The not-quite-a-month-old time, I thought he might be inconsolable, but inconsolability was pretty much his state of existence at the time, so it didn't seem like it would matter all that much whether he was inconsolable with me or with a set of loving grandparents. And in his first moment of irony, he slept the whole time we were away. It was the longest non-screaming stretch of his first three months, that joker.) I was not an anxious mess.
The first time we left Weston with anyone...well, I don't actually remember the first time we left Weston with anyone. I imagine it was, once again, with a set of loving grandparents. The first time we left him with a non-family member...well, I don't really remember that, either. I do think he was considerably older, simply because we got too busy to find a baby-sitter. So he was, maybe, two? In any case, I once again didn't worry about him. I suspected that he would either be completely happy or completely inconsolable--it's always hard to know with Weston--but either way, I knew that whoever was with him would hold him and love him and that in the end, it would be ok. Again, I was not an anxious mess.
This weekend, we're leaving the dog for the first time. In a kennel. Without us. With other humans. And dogs. And who knows what else, really. And I'm worried. See, unlike my children, who were generally pretty fond of people, Elsa is not fond of people. Not even a little bit. Her go-to response for meeting a stranger is to hide behind me or McMoose and bark with a great deal of uncertainty. When Another Baby's mother came to get him--which, of course, she did on a daily basis--Elsa would raise the hair on her back and try to look like a menacing hyena, even as she made a hasty retreat to the farthest corner of the room. What this dog is going to do in a kennel, I have no idea.
Well. No. I do have some ideas. I think she'll bark and whine and howl and cry and be sad. Dogs can be sad, right? That's not anthropomorphizing? In any case, I think she'll be sad. And although she has never been terribly aggressive, I do worry that if she's stressed out and scared all weekend, she might snap at someone. (Also unlike my children the first time I left either of them, Elsa has teeth. Big and sharp ones.) And that's bad news, right? What do they even do with dogs that snap at people? I don't know! (I know I could easily find the answer via Google, but I'm not sure I want to know.) This time, I am, perhaps, a bit of an anxious mess.
The first time we left Weston with anyone...well, I don't actually remember the first time we left Weston with anyone. I imagine it was, once again, with a set of loving grandparents. The first time we left him with a non-family member...well, I don't really remember that, either. I do think he was considerably older, simply because we got too busy to find a baby-sitter. So he was, maybe, two? In any case, I once again didn't worry about him. I suspected that he would either be completely happy or completely inconsolable--it's always hard to know with Weston--but either way, I knew that whoever was with him would hold him and love him and that in the end, it would be ok. Again, I was not an anxious mess.
This weekend, we're leaving the dog for the first time. In a kennel. Without us. With other humans. And dogs. And who knows what else, really. And I'm worried. See, unlike my children, who were generally pretty fond of people, Elsa is not fond of people. Not even a little bit. Her go-to response for meeting a stranger is to hide behind me or McMoose and bark with a great deal of uncertainty. When Another Baby's mother came to get him--which, of course, she did on a daily basis--Elsa would raise the hair on her back and try to look like a menacing hyena, even as she made a hasty retreat to the farthest corner of the room. What this dog is going to do in a kennel, I have no idea.
Well. No. I do have some ideas. I think she'll bark and whine and howl and cry and be sad. Dogs can be sad, right? That's not anthropomorphizing? In any case, I think she'll be sad. And although she has never been terribly aggressive, I do worry that if she's stressed out and scared all weekend, she might snap at someone. (Also unlike my children the first time I left either of them, Elsa has teeth. Big and sharp ones.) And that's bad news, right? What do they even do with dogs that snap at people? I don't know! (I know I could easily find the answer via Google, but I'm not sure I want to know.) This time, I am, perhaps, a bit of an anxious mess.
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