Friday, July 13, 2012


This is Hudson, our four-year-old Pembroke Welsh Corgi:

Hudson's motto: I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me, puppy- puppy-razzi.

Isn't he cute? Well, I'm pretty sure he wants to bite Henry's face off. Rayne says not to say that out loud, because I will project my fears onto Hudson. But I think we've gone too far for "projection" to be a concern. I'm way more concerned about the face-biting at this point.

I cannot accurately convey the angst I feel. I love my little Hudsy so much. He has been my buddy through thick and thin the last four years. He is so, so, so very sad and confused about Henry's appearance in the midst of what I'm sure he perceived to be a perfectly harmonious Team Hudson situation.

Before Henry was born, he was a sweet and, ahem, lovingly persistent dog. He really liked fetch. You guys wanna play fetch? No? How about now? No? Now? How about now? No? Okay, I'll just drop this ball at your feet. In case you want to play fetch in twenty seconds. No? You wanna play keep away instead? No? Tug of war? No? That's okay, I'll just drop the ball at your feet again, so in case you want to play fetch, you'll see it. I don't want you to forget. About the fetch. With me. How about now?

But he has become increasingly ornery, difficult and neurotic in the last seven months. He literally will not even look at Henry. He mopes around the apartment looking depressed and vacillates between hiding and sitting directly on our feet. And tonight, for the first time ever, he growled and bared his teeth at me as I grabbed his collar to push him towards the door where Rayne was waiting to take him out for a walk.

He growled. At me. His human mommy.

My heart broke.

As Rayne left with Hudson, my eyes welled up with tears. Because I need to be better about doing what the excellent trainer I hired a few months ago taught me. Because I need to get up and out in the morning to take Hudson to off-leash hours in the park, instead of going back for a nap after feeding Henry. Because I will never adequately be able to explain to my sweet puppy why his life has taken this turn for the worse.

And then Henry, whose routine is still shaky after our trip west, started crying in his crib. He was inconsolable, so I scooped him up and brought him to the kitchen because I had to make dinner. I rifled through the refrigerator with Henry on my hip, trying to pull out the ingredients for the stir-fry I ordered from Fresh Direct, which, incidentally, hardly qualifies as "making dinner."

And I forgot about being sad for Hudson. Which is exactly the issue.

Disney made a movie about this in 1955. But there was no mention of Darling's dog-mommy guilt. I wonder if she had any.