In a moment of wisdom, or more arguably, of weakness, we decided to keep one of the eight puppies born to Tipper this past spring. The decision was made at a time of complete immersion, literally and figuratively, in puppy rearing. We were not afforded the required distance from which to survey the panoramic landscape of implications inherent in that decision. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time, emphasis on, at the time, given the long term commitment that seemed beyond our sight.

We are sensible people and all conventional wisdom says first, that having both the mother and one of her puppies means an extra challenge of preventing a bonding between them that trumps the bonding between puppy and owners. Second, two intact females do not typically get along well unless they are both spayed. We now have two intact females that also happen to be mother and daughter dogs.

Add to that a daughter dog that is eight months old, requiring constant vigilance because of her insatiable drive to chew things, like the zipper in my jacket, my leather belt, my good shoes and the pedals and the power cord on my exercycle. Notice the frequency of the word “my” as a modifier for all of the chewed objects. I suppose I could take it as a sign of bonding. Go bond with your mother, I figure.

It must be a special form of masochism, or penance for sins committed in a past life, that drove us to our decision, despite our usual sensibility. Or that we were too tired and too preoccupied to let sensibility get in the way of a purely heart-felt choice. We really should have slept on it for a night or two, in principle, like we did recently in buying a washing machine. In our experience, washing machines do not last as long as dogs, and there was nothing in the manual about bonding with a Maytag.

As an aside, it was actually a Whirlpool with the Maytag brand because apparently people have been more inclined to buy a Maytag than a Whirlpool. I guess there has been some brand bonding happening.

Regret is too strong a word for what I feel about our decision when in the midst of the incessant snapping and snarling when rough play goes over the top, or when I am on the way to the shoe repair shop way across town. What I feel is ambivalence, defined as the “coexistence of opposing feelings and attitudes toward a person, object, or idea,” or in this case, dogs.

Here is a very fresh example that actually prompted this essay. It is based on a personal experience like most of my other essays.

I was sitting down to a favourite lunch. I had made a sandwich from the left-over meat loaf from the previous evening. It was on whole wheat bread with mayo and Dijon mustard and just a touch of ketchup.

Tipper was lying at her master’s feet. In fact, her head was resting on my foot, giving me that warm feeling of connection with her. Deirdre, the daughter, was curled up on the hearth of the gas fireplace, looking cozy and content, against the background of flames. This was a very special moment, a Kodak moment except for the digital age, for anyone who is a dog owner, when everything is right and all is well between man and his companions. I sighed contentedly and began savouring my sandwich, letting my fine furry friends slip into a backroom of my consciousness.

As I chewed slowly I became aware of a correspondingly similar sound coming from the living room. Deirdre, no longer at the hearth, had pulled out and chewed a substantial clump of fabric from the braided rug. I quickly removed her to the kitchen and away from any further damage before turning to finish my lunch, only to discover that Tipper, no longer at her master’s feet, had finished my lunch for me.

So now you probably have a good idea of ambivalence. It is a natural human capacity to be able to hold conflicting attitudes and feelings. We probably do about most things, some more acutely than others, and are able to switch back and forth quickly, like it or not.

© C O P Y R I G H T   2 0 0 9.  Gary Holdgrafer ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.