Unpopular opinion time. Your dog is not the same as my human child. I saw a Facebook post from someone without children who listed the ways that her dogs are like children and dismissed people who point out that there is a difference. I will be honest, it ruffled my feathers. I don’t know when exactly we started treating pets like humans, but it’s gotten a little out of hand. Don’t get me wrong, I completely get how emotionally attached people become to their animals. I grew up with dogs (and fish, and snakes, and chickens, and a couple of turkeys, and a rather aggressive duck, but I digress) and I loved them. I cried when my cat died while I was away at college. I drove back to my hometown in Florida to visit our dog one last time and say goodbye when my dad called to tell me that he didn’t think she’d make it much longer. Most of my childhood memories involve animals in some form or fashion. I cry big fat ugly tears when an animal dies in a movie or show or I read about animal heroes in the news. You won’t ever hear me say animals aren’t valuable or lovable or helpful to so many people because they absolutely are. But the goodest of good boys is not worth as much as a human child and it’s a little silly to equate them.
Yes, there are similarities between dogs and babies. They’re dependent on you for food and shelter and medical care. They’re expensive. You have to take them to doctor’s appointments and sometimes daycare (I’ve recently been made aware that doggy daycares exist). They rely on you for comfort and companionship. They can be needy and clingy sometimes. They wreck your house, pee on things, and tear up furniture. They’re silly and playful and use you as a jungle gym. They take naps and have zero sense of personal space. You have to make special arrangements when you travel with them. They may get anxious when you leave and are super happy to see you when you return. They love you and you love them right back. I get it, I do.
But the similarities between dogs and kids end somewhere around there.
You get a dog from friends, a rescue, a breeder, or maybe your college age child who gets a puppy and then realizes they can’t keep a labradoodle in a dorm room and begs you to just “watch him” for a while. I grew my children in my actual body and carried them for nine months (8.5 if we’re getting particular). I felt them move around in my womb. I had nausea, Braxton Hicks, heartburn, and when I waddled around trying to get some exercise, it felt like I’d been karate kicked directly in the crotch for several hours after. I was super emotional about everything, ate ice cream like it was my whole job, and once sat in a tailgate chair in the garage watching Netflix on my laptop for an hour because I couldn’t stand the smell of dinner. I labored for 15 hours with one, 13 with the other and pushed them out of me with the help of lots of drugs one time and entirely naturally the next. I attached a breast pump—which is really just a benignly named torture device—to my chest every 3 hours around the clock for 5 months to feed my daughter and currently nurse my son whenever and wherever he wants it.
You may lose sleep when you adopt a dog, but the process doesn’t involve permanently altering your body. My children have left their mark on me in the form of stretch marks, separated abdominal muscles, and some internal organs starting to sag. Puppies are precious, but my girl has my face shape and eye color, and my husband’s eye shape and brows. She makes facial expressions that look just like her daddy’s, and she’s dramatic like her mama (Jesus, take the wheel). My son is my mini me but with lighter hair and blue eyes and his gummy grin just melts me. I would throw myself in front of a moving train without a moment’s hesitation if it would save either of them from harm.
You can leave your dog at your house when you go to work or need to run errands. I’d have CPS called on me if I did that to my children. I rearranged my entire life to make sure my children are cared for the way that I want them to be cared for. I cut back work from full time to part-part time from home and cut our income in the process. I have to take my children with me or find a sitter or family to keep them if I want to go anywhere alone. If I have a doctor’s appointment, my husband has to take time off work. If I decided to go back to work, we would need to find a daycare we were comfortable with and make sure the children were fed and clothed and packed up with everything they needed and taken there every day.
I make a million decisions a day and second guess every single one of them, agonizing over whether or not I’m being the best mom for my kids because I’m responsible for helping them grow into responsible adults one day. I have to work on my own personal growth because I’ve got two sets of little eyes watching me all day. They will learn how to approach situations, manage their emotions, and handle stress the way they see me do it. The goal of parenting a child is that they leave your care prepared to handle their lives on their own as kind and productive members of a community and some day raise their own kids if they so choose. The goal of having a dog is to provide a home for them and have a loving companion for the remainder of their life. You don’t (or shouldn’t) raise a dog with the intention of setting it free to live on its own in the wild when it comes of age.
I am a firm believer that this world needs people with all different passions and talents. This is not an indictment of people who choose to love animals instead of having children. We need women like my mom who stayed home with three kids while helping the homeless and leading Bible studies for women in prison. Women like my mother-in-law, who also stayed home with three kids and who pours herself out for her family, friends, and anyone else who is fortunate enough to cross her path. We also need women like my lovely stepmom, who doesn’t have biological children, but puts blood, sweat, and tears into her pet rescue.
I think we’ll probably adopt a dog one day when our kids are old enough to help out and I’ve officially given up on keeping my house clean, but you won’t catch me hashtagging “#dogmom” when we do.
