A Girl and Her (First) Dog

While I wipe the still occasional snot stream from Murphy’s recovering nose before bathing him in medicated shampoo to ease the itching of his latest relapse of that bizarre autoimmune disease making him bald, my mind sometimes wanders back to the days when I owned an equally loveable dog who wasn’t quite so defective expensive needy in the health department.

So of late, I think of our first dog, Kiner.

We had Kiner, another yellow Lab, for about two years before his spoiled world of endless games of catch and pig ears was invaded by Li’l Diva’s arrival. One of the most frequently asked questions My Love and I would get about bringing up baby was not about diaper cream (Dr. Smith's), projectile vomiting (only once ... at a place of former employment – ha!) or strained peas (eeewww). It was:

Do the baby and dog get along?

In fact, when we told one set of relatives about the blessed event to come, the first question asked was, "What are you going to do about the dog?" Actually, it was my canine-adverse Mother of All Uncoolness, and she pointedly asked, “WHEN are you getting RID of that dog?”

To dispel rumors of yellow labs who grab babies by their necks and run off with them to Hollywood where they end up writing jokes for late-night comedians(dog), dancing on Ally McBeal (baby) and sipping organic juice with Gwyneth Paltrow at Spago (both -- lucky so-and-so's), I’d have to post on our old family website photos of our two “kids” at the time making nice. Photos just like these:

 Sure, sometimes Kiner would accidently whap Li’l Diva with his tail.

Yes, she tried multiple times to perfect the Moe eye-gouge on the dog.

But all in jest, people! Good fun, good times!

When Kiner would bound down the stairs into the kitchen in search of someone to slobber on, Li’l Diva quickly learned to crouch and brace for impact. Later, she would offer up her Cheerios from her highchair ... that is when he wasn’t  lapping up the ones she had already spilled on the floor.

They were a dream team, or to paraphrase the classic Bloom County cartoon:

A girl and her dog. A dog and his girl. Two dips and a Dad.

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