Childhood dog

As a child, I really needed a dog.

Not just any little puppy.

But Bocman from “Varnų sala” or “Komisar Rex”.

Or at least “Lassie”.

In short, a “big one.”

One whose neck you could hug. Like a person’s.

We lived in an apartment.

So I loved the “compensation” kittens and little rodents Mom and Dad got us.

But it wasn’t the same as a big dog.

Now we have a dog.

A big dog.

One whose neck you can hug like a person’s.

Sometimes I realize that my insistence on getting him was really my childhood dream catching up with me.

I grumble over the Sisyphean task of the vacuum trying to handle his shedding.

I roll my eyes at the seemingly endless training, which eats up nearly all my free time and sometimes frays my last nerve.

Sometimes I scold myself for having to handle vet visits, vaccinations, and the occasional “mishaps” on top of an already challenging trio of kids.

But.

Every time I look at the children—

Growing up alongside him—

I forget everything.

And I remember something I once heard:
Every child should have a dog.
And a mom.
Who lets them keep it.

V.