April 3, 2002

Ugly misgivings about cute baby

By CORKY
Herald editor's dog
       For nearly four weeks, I've held my tongue about the new addition to the family - no easy task for a mouth breather.
      Call me a crass canine, but I have a hard time understanding what all the fuss is about. Human babies are furless, noisy, hapless creatures only a mother (or father) could love. Although, I must admit they're so homely they're kind of cute; in a blood-curdling scream at 4 a.m. kind of way.
      Now playing the role of family dog requires a few concessions on my part. I fetch a few sticks, perform some menial tricks, eat the same food everyday and walk my humans around the neighborhood on a leash. In return, I get free room and board and a scratch behind the ear only those with opposable thumbs can perform.
      However, no one conferred with me about bringing a child into this world. I would have settled for a rawhide or a fire hydrant squeaky toy.
      While we share no parental genetic traits, baby and I are both classified as land animals. Suffice it to say, I might have a tinge of mammal sibling rivalry. After all, for three years I've had sole possession of the household cute factor. Suddenly, I'm playing second fiddle to a Yo-Yo Ma who spits up for an encore. I've become Salieri to Mozart, Shemp to Curly, the Boston Red Soxs to Babe Ruth.
      Another conundrum that has cropped up since baby's arrival is the blatant parental double standards. Just a few examples include:
      - If I howl in the middle of the night I get a capital letter correction. Baby cries and she gets to eat again.
      - Baby gets all the good chew toys and I can't even gum any of them.
      - Relief for me means squatting between two pine trees in the rain at six o'clock in the morning. Baby can pass gas in the living room and everyone laughs.
      - Baby has the run of the house yet can't even walk. I'm the one stuck behind a baby gate.
      Of course, having a baby around isn't all bad. Thanks to the half-pint human, I put up with a lot less personal hygiene grief. While the baby is subjected to sponge baths and diaper rash ointments, I finally get to smell - like a dog that is. An occasional squirt of doggie deodorant and I'm good to go.
      After 25 days, I've come to the conclusion that this furless, noisy, hapless creature is here to stay.
      So, like a 401k mutual fund, I'm looking at baby as a long-term investment. If I ride out the bobble-head crying, in a few months we are talking free food on the face. In a few years, there will be dropped ice cream cones and hot dogs. Then one day, I'll finally have the pair of opposable thumbs to dig up flower beds and root through garbage cans - and I won't get in trouble.
      It will be just like Timmy and Lassie, Little Orphan Annie and Sandy or Travis and Old Yell ... er, maybe not.
      Despite many ugly misgivings, babies are kind of cute - in a Homo sapien kind of way. Truth be told, I can't hold my tongue anymore, especially since from the few licks I've sampled this baby tastes like sugar and spice and everything nice. Hopefully, in a few years the two of us can mix in mud pies, grass clippings and friendship.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com.