Seven years later, she enjoyed the shade in her own fenced in yard (the house came with it, I guess).
And, after much begging, pleading, and canoodling with pillows to show how empty my life was without a cuddly pet, my mother agreed to host the missing half-child of her American Dream.
Thus, Bear entered our lives!
When I am home from college, my sheep-like labradoodle likes to lie down next to me on my zebra bed and soak up every minute we have together. He drools while I read. He passes gas while I talk on the phone. He paws at my keyboard while I type emails. There’s nothing like sharing a comforter with a little beast who also enjoys Katy Perry.
But when I left for college, Bear was confused…
Like any good Scrubs enthusiast, I tried to model my friendship with man’s best friend after the likes of JD and Rowdy. He and Rowdy shared an apartment, a taste for sweets, and a devotion to patients. But no matter how beautiful this televised friendship seemed, JD’s stuffed lab only appeared every five or so episodes, and really never for more than three minutes at a time.
After years of watching him dry off in my laundry basket, I achieved a bond with my live dog that goes beyond season finales, beyond pregnant doctors, and beyond EKG machine malfunctions. The only threat was the distance between my house and my university…
Unlike the rest of my family, Bear never received an explanation. As my grandparents, aunts, and uncles asked for details about my university and bombarded me with advice, Bear stayed blissfully ignorant of the fact that soon my zebra bed sheets would adorn the twin-size bunk in my dormitory instead of his customary farting sport.
With my bags packed, I embraced my furball and received what he didn’t know would be the last sloppy lick we’d share until Thanksgiving Break.
Looking back on this farewell, I wish I had prepped him the way I’d prepped my grandma: “Babushka, of course, they’re going to feed me in college!”
Or the ways that came to me during my first college all-nighter. So what if it was supposed to be dedicated to my Monstrosity and Otherness essay? Missing my baby Bear sort of got in the way.
THREE WAYS TO SAY GOOD-BYE TO YOUR DOGGIE… UNTIL YOU RETURN
Here are three ways to painlessly break the news about college to your pup so you can actually focus on your future degree:
- Draw a diagram in dog treats. It’s a well-known fact that dogs can’t read. Treats, however, paint a different picture. Take the time he’s chasing a squirrel outside to put together a schema of what your new home away from home will look like. He’ll show you that he gets it by messily devouring your artwork and resting his head in your lap.
- With a bowl of doggy ice cream, break the news. Let’s face it. When dealing with bad news, the only thing better than a good cry at Casablanca is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Gently sit down with your furry companion, a serving of doggy ice cream, and an explanation. Don’t forget your own pint, though. There’s no fun in letting your dog indulge on his own.
- Drop hints like they’re hot. Since you’re leaving soon, prepare him slowly for the transition. Perhaps he’ll get used to the idea of you embarking on the quest for your BA if you leave a hint or two. Start by putting brochures by his water bowl. Next, hide your college essay in his bed. As a grand finale to the scavenger hunt for higher education, bury a bone with the note attached to it:
I’ll be back before you know it, boy. Now, stay out of mom’s apple pies. <3