Cats and Dogs Living Together

Everyone knows dogs and cats have an adversarial relationship, as if they've been bred to oppose each other in some grand scheme to create domestic balance. When talking about dogs or cats we often frame them each against a backdrop of the other, like Red and Blue states whose stark common borders are defined so clearly by the very character of their intense contrast with each other.

It's not really true, however, that canine and feline are natural born enemies, they just get their signals crossed. When a cat is feeling friendly she holds her tail high, almost vertical. To a dog, a high tail signals aggressive dominance. A dog lowers his ears when he's frightened or submissive but cats lower their ears when angered. When hunting, a cat holds her tail low which is doggy language for "submissive". Imagine the poor friendly dog's surprise when he gets a nose full of claws... he learns quickly to mistrust those moody and unpredictable cats!

Forced to live together, a dog can learn to read his feline companion's body language, allowing the two to cohabitate in relative peace despite the communicative disconnect that underlies their relationship. I witnessed this recently as our cat (Jingle) and our dog (Sally) peacefully shared a small square of sunshine on the kitchen floor. Theirs is a friendship born of claws and fury, but with time they are growing to understand each other.

A couple days ago I was sharing this information (gleaned from an NPR Podcast) with my wife of 15 years, Cristy, and we both had a good chuckle as we related it to our own experience as pet owners. Then Cristy broke with a contemplative pause and after a moment she said, "Yeah, I'm a cat".

Just like you would expect from any typical dog... I have no idea how I should interpret that.

Homework Is Fun

I have an aesthetically challenged commuter car that has seen better days. He has one job... to ensure I get to work and back in a timely manner, a job he does reliably. However, a couple times a week I let him work from home. Transporting me to my home office allows him to remain in the comfort of his own garage without so much as lifting a piston. But, just between you and me, he doesn't really get much done at home.

Lately he has had company, the Brat-Mobile sitting idly along-side. When weather permits, Cristy rides her bike to work (2 miles to the local Middle School) so neither of our gas-burning, globe-warming, hunks-of-foreign-made-metal ever sees daylight. At the end of the day this contributes to our feeling of modern cultural and environmental responsibility, a prideful bit of satisfaction as we sit down to our evening meal of locally grown produce and free range chicken.

It all sounds so progressive, conscientious, and (dare I say) political. The truth is less profound; I'm guided mostly by my taste buds and my couch-potatoiness. Not to mention that it's great fun to stand in the driveway in the morning sun, wave to my wife and three kids riding off on their bikes, and say "Have a great day at school!".

Then I'm off to work... saving the planet in my pajamas.

Lessons Lost

Like good modern consumers we "recycle"; paper products, aluminum, steel, glass... whatever our curb-side recycler will haul away. We also "reduce" and "re-use" wherever possible, completing the 3R's triad. This leaves us feeling like responsible citizens and parents, setting a strong example for our children to follow into their adulthood as they inherit an ecologically stressed world.

Spring is in full swing and our lawn's rich green hue has hit its annual peak. Standing in stark contrast, however, are the intermixed golden-brown patches of dog ownership, worn by the lawn like badges of dishonor. Washing the soil and over-seeding are rites of Spring in our yard and I recently completed the task while taking care to be conscientious and resourceful.

I was busy scattering grass seed on bare patches when my assumption that our children had been observing and learning from their parents' example began to unravel. The idea of "Re-use" should not be a foreign one, or confusing, I thought. "Re-use" was such a simple and well demonstrated practice in our home... I thought.

Not one, but TWO of my kids (I'm not naming names) approached me while I worked and asked... why was I sprinkling Parmesan Cheese on the grass.

I won't say who it was. But surprisingly enough, neither of them was blond.

Bearly Time

My youngest son, Joey, had very recently graduated from the "Terrible 2's" to the "Terrifying 3's". His older siblings were in half-day pre-school and I was Mr. Mom for the day. "Half-day" is a misnomer... it was about 2½ hours and Joey and I had a lot to do. Outside of the typical male bonding you'd expect from such an arrangement we had chores; cleaning up, laundry, and grocery shopping.

I hurriedly carried bags in from the car with an eye on my watch, our time was almost up and I still had to put the groceries away. It didn't matter what the clock said or didn't say, Joey knew only one unit of time and it was measured in birthday parties.

"Daddy... will you pretend to be a bear?", Joey said irresistibly.

"rrrrRRRAAAAAAHHHHRRG!", I roared, fingers curled into giant claws above my head.

Joey giggle-screamed at full volume and ran out of the kitchen as quick as his stubby little legs would take him. I put away the ice cream.

What followed was a satisfying break from my previously undivided attention on Joey... short though it was because I had obviously not followed through and lived up to the boy's expectations.

Joey bounced back into the kitchen, "Daddy... will you pretend to be a bear?"

"rrrrRRRAAAAAAHHHHRRG!", I bellowed louder than the time before.

Joey giggle-screamed at full volume again and raced out of the kitchen. I put away the Macaroni & Cheese.

This cycle repeated a few times, each time Joey would exit the kitchen with an anticipatory squeal only to return moments later with a re-established intent to draw me out.

Until it stopped. Joey broke the rhythm. After one giant growl he did not return on queue for another disappointing round of "Daddy Bear Is Busy". There was an extended pause... and then Joey walked slowly back into the kitchen with a more serious demeanor.

"Daddy... will you pretend to be a good Daddy?"

Setting Course

When my son, Garett, was about 18 months old I asked him a question, not because I expected an answer, but just to stave off the quiet. He surprised me with a response that was immediate and confident, as if he'd been waiting his whole life for someone to ask.

"So, Garett... what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I be Lah-Lah-Lah" he said, and then broke into song; ♫ "lah--LAH--lah!" ♫

We're older now but the question never really goes away for a kid, they get asked all the time by friends, relatives, and people they've just met. It's an intimate question that cuts straight to the meat of who they are; what are their dreams, values, and expectations for themselves. It's a tough question that many of us grown-ups are still asking ourselves.

Molly, my 9 year old daughter, already has it figured out. Her chosen career path is the result of a seed planted by Disney and nurtured into realistic ambition by stories rolling in from the Somali coast. She has an adventurer's heart and seeks life's great treasures.

She is also a realist. Molly recognizes that her goals may be difficult to achieve and so she has a backup plan in place. Her top two career choices are:

Choice #1 - Pirate
Choice #2 - Vampire

I am tempted to tell her she could satisfy both of her career aspirations with a single occupation, but that's the last thing the world needs... another lawyer.