It was in the middle of a gray, arctic-freeze afternoon when we finally gave in to my son’s pleading to visit the pet store.
“I know we can’t get a dog,” he said, repeating my tired refrain, “but maybe something else? Look, I’ve saved my money,” he said, opening his wallet.
He begged with his sisters, his eyes widening as he asked us to let him explore other pets.
“I’ve been reading up on lizards. And axolotls. And other reptiles!” he said, pointing to his Kindle, an article on axolotl care illuminating the screen. “I promise I’d take care of it, I would! It wouldn’t be any extra work at all!”
Hearing the earnest hope in my son’s voice made my heart sink. My son is an animal lover; he’s wanted a dog since he was old enough to talk. And yet here he was, eight years old and already defeated, desperate for a compromise, for any animal to love.
His request made me feel like I’d failed him. The least I could do was say yes to a trip to the pet store.
And so, an hour later, we were roaming the aisles in search of a new pet that would be fun to observe and that would require care simple enough for my son to help with. We looked at fish, frogs, turtles, and geckos. We ruled out axolotls due to their specialized care requirements.
We also ruled out all tiny fish species. After losing our beloved goldfish last year, we’d had a string of back-to-back fish losses that had left our tank empty for the past six months. My oldest was terrified of a repeat.
That led us back to the lizards, my son zeroing in on a tank with a chameleon. It was a beautiful lizard, its skin almost the exact shade of the branch it sat on in its tank. We watched as its eyes darted to our own. This might not be so bad, I thought.
The lizard scuttled down its branch a moment later and stuck out its long tongue, snatching up a (live!) bug.
Imagining us storing live insects in our refrigerator, I grabbed my son’s hand and guided him to the next aisle.
There, we found some hamsters, bunnies, and birds. But my son wasn’t impressed. “I don’t want any of these. They’re like dogs you can’t play with,” he said, his voice wavering.
He walked away from the cages, ready to go. It was a quiet ride home.
As I sat there staring at the road, I found myself conflicted. Should we go back and get the chameleon? Or try again with more fish? Or was it time for us to dive into his big request and get a dog?
My husband and I both grew up with dogs. My parents surprised me with a puppy on my tenth birthday; to this day, it’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. I loved that cocker spaniel more than anything for the almost fifteen years we had her.
I knew that if my son were to get a dog, he’d show it the same love. I knew it would be one of the best parts of his childhood.
And yet, our lives are so busy. We travel frequently. Our yard is small. My husband’s long work hours mean if we did get a dog, most of the responsibility would fall to me —the cleaning, the training, the cold-morning walks. I didn’t want to get a dog and then resent it. I didn’t want to make our lives any more complicated. Nor did I want to burden us with more expenses.
But hung up next to my son’s open heart, somehow those arguments felt flimsy and weak.
By denying our kids a dog, was I being selfish? Was I depriving them of an important experience that would help them grow into more well-rounded adults? Or was I doing us all a favor, making an unpopular yet necessary decision that would help maintain order in our fast-paced, busy home?
We’d approached the dog conversation for years by pushing any action off into the future. We’d say we have to wait until our youngest is older or until all three kids are in school, imagining that clarity would emerge in the passing years. But now the years had passed and our path was still unclear.
To buy ourselves more time, one night, my husband retrieved the fish tank from the basement.
“Maybe we just need to try buying some bigger fish,” he said, placing it back on the family room shelf where it used to live.
My son jumped up. “We could try,” he said.
So we filled the tank, started the filter, and promised our son another trip to the fish store.
And for the moment, he was happy. Peace had been restored.
But I couldn’t help but feel that we hadn’t reached a final conclusion, the ending to our pet saga still unknown.
My son reaffirmed this feeling days later when I picked him up at school, the first draft of this blog sitting fresh on my computer.
“You know, I had a dream last night you were going to pick me up today and surprise me with a dog,” he said.
Staring into his shining eyes, I stopped, in awe of the timing. Had he sensed the words I’d spent that day writing? Was his dream not just a fantasy but an answer to the question that haunted us all?
I wasn’t sure, but as we kept walking, I could sense my feelings shifting slightly, like leaves rustling in a breeze.
Turning to my son, I squeezed his hand. “No, honey. I’m afraid we’re not getting a dog today. But who knows? Maybe one day we will,” I said.
“Really?” he asked, my open-ended answer rekindling hope.
“I don’t know,” I said. “We’re still not sure. But I do like that dogs don’t eat bugs.”
And then we laughed.
