The Cone of Shame

If you weren't sure if I was a yuppie, learning that my husband and I bring our dog to doggie day camp if we both need to work late might clue you in. We bring her to her camp ("_____, you're going to camp today!") about once every two weeks or so, and she seems to love it.

About 6 months ago, she did start a tiff with another dog at camp, landing herself a couple of hours in isolation. Neither dog was hurt, no big deal. Then about a month ago, when I was walking her, a greeting turned sour, and my little boxer snapped at a much-larger pit-dalmation mix. She started the fight, and she wound up with a scratch on her neck. The other dog was unscathed.

With people, she remains sweet and submissive--a really, really good dog. Without her, I don't know how I would have fared through five rounds of infertility treatments. Without her, my husband's and my relationship would certainly have been more strained. She came into our lives when I was feeling hopeless. She became our family, our first little girl.

And I think that's why when I got a call at work Thursday that she'd been in a fight, my eyes filled with tears. They didn't know which dog started it, but I suspect it was ours. And this time, she would need stitches, as the other dog split open one of her floppy ears.

I thought of myself opening the car door that morning, my gal hopping into the back, little nub-tail wagging. I thought of her pulling toward the doors of the day camp. And of myself, letting her go somewhere that I should have known would eventually lead to her getting hurt.

She's not a rough-and-tumble dog--she freaks out when certains dogs get too excited, and she starts to fight. And while she's perfect for us, and we love her, she's not perfect. And that's hard to admit.

So alas, she's sporting an Elizabethan collar for a few days until the stitches heal. She's been a great sport about it, seemingly unaware, bumping into our walls as she walks.

With parenthood fast approaching, I find myself worrying, mostly through dreams, about not being able to protect my child. I try to think rationally, for example, "Those girls on 16 and Pregnant are really stupid, and their kids seems like they're doing great." But still, when I look at my dog with her cone head, I just pray that I'll be a good mom to our second little girl.