A tribute to parents left "holding the leash"

This month marks the 20^th anniversary of my mother’s passing. What better way to remember Mom than by paying tribute to her and all the other mothers who have been left holding the leash when the kids have pleaded for a dog.

Originally my family followed tradition on both parents’ side by barring dogs. An ill-fated tiny turtle substituted as a pet. However, cataclysmic circumstances wrenched us from our semi-urban existence to some forsaken place where cows lived at the corner. Our parents offered to soothe our fretted souls by adopting a dog.

We all swore we would take care of the dog. You know how that story ended. But really it wasn’t our fault. Our parents adopted a dog based on one criterion: no licking. They didn’t think through that dogs who don’t lick probably are not the pals that kids crave.

Cordy did not lick, or play. It was hard to get excited about a dog with a Greta Garbo complex; she just wanted to be alone. While I walked Cordy sometimes, in all fairness Mom was the main caregiver over the years.

I left for college when Cordy was 12 and in failing health. Mom alone dealt with Cordy’s weak hindquarters and resulting messes. My first weekend home, we euthanized Cordy. It was the only time I saw Dad cry. Mom swore no more dogs in her house.

Flash-forward five years, I’m back home while working my first job. My boss gives me a hard-luck story about a homeless puppy, and without checking I said I’d take the pup in temporarily. I walked through the door at home that Friday evening with Dusty, and promised my startled mom, “It’s only for the weekend.”

You know how that story ends. It was a very long weekend. Yet this was a great do-over. This time I walked the dog all the time, and sometimes mom joined us for the camaraderie. Dusty licked everyone. Dusty even shared the sofa with mom as her TV buddy. And when I moved out, Dusty moved out with me.

Dusty died the year before Mom did. When Mom passed I found a notebook and a few pages filled with her simple, flowing cursive. It began with a quote, “Mom, it’s only for the weekend!”

Mom never finished the story. It astounded me that her first and only literary effort would be about a dog. I would love to know how that story ended. I like to think that she had kept a secret from us, and maybe herself, for all those years. I like to think the story ended with her describing how she enjoyed living with a dog after all, even feeling affection for Dusty. Maybe all the moms now caring for their kids’ dogs can finish the story with their own happy ending.