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Pets or People?

The other day my husband out of a clear blue sky told me to blog about how I love my dogs more than him. He wasn't angry or judgmental, just resigned. It sounds terrible, I know, especially when you write it down and use a comparative conjunction to emphasize how big a deal it is.

I'm stalling, however. The truth is-my husband is right. His greatest blunder? He's not an animal. As a kid, I would agonize if my ginger neutered male didn't come in the house when I called him. Depending on your age, you may recall that those were the days when most owners let their cats wander in the immediate neighborhood. As a result, they often came back injured by cat fights, wet from rain or snow, or pregnant. Or sometimes they didn't come back at all.

I don't know why we made that decision to let them free roam, but since my parents ruled, I had to go along with it as well. Many was the night when I tearfully went to bed hoping against hope that my cat would be there hungry and healthy in the a.m. He was my first pet, and I loved him more than anything. Luckily he lived a pretty long life and died of natural causes.

From the moment I got my first schnauzer, Maude, about two years after I married, I knew that taking care of this dog and making sure no harm came to her would be the most important goal in my life. It beat out trying to establish a career as well as trying to make the marriage work. That's the truth. Actually the only reason I moved from an apartment into a house was to have a dog. My husband said that he feared the day when Maude would die because he didn't know if I'd be able to cope. He was half right. I was depressed for weeks following Maude's death at age 13 from heart problems, but I had another dog in place so the heaviness eventually dissipated and life went on .But the ache lasted a long time, and every time my husband mentioned Maude at social events, I felt depressed that I hadn't been able to help her rally from her cardiac problems.

I'm the kind of woman who treats her pets as if they are human babies. I don't mean that I celebrate their birthdays and bake them treats. It's a health status thing. I get worried and fear the worst when they show signs of sickness. I like to be on top of their health problems, and sometimes I fail.. It's then that I kick myself metaphorically--and wish that I could do it literally. Ironically it's then that I seek solace from my husband, and he usually comes through, sharing the burden of loss and grief.

Fortunately my husband has never been sick with anything more than a cold. So I don't have to worry about dealing with a chronic illness he might have. And he's good about going for regular doctor visits, taking meds, and undergoing recommended tests. Maybe that's why I can divert my energies toward my pets. Also, I've never been seriously sick if you don't count all the times I've struggled with depression. Of course my pets are part of my psycho-therapy so when they're down, I'm down as well.

But the real reason I love my pets more than my husband is that comparing pets with people is like comparing apples to oranges. Pets always remain helpless babies in my eyes, and husbands are adults fully capable of directing their energies toward their own health care.

So my "babies" will always have a special place in my hierarchy of hopes, wishes and desires. And my husband will be there to get me through the tough times when the future looks grim or one of my babies fades into the night.

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