Respect
by Janine Adams

My dogs are the center of my universe. It's not that I spend every spare minute training them or every weekend at agility trials or flyball tournaments (though I admire people who do compete in fun events with their dogs). But in every decision I make, my standard poodles, Kramer and Scout, come first.

I work from home, writing about dogs, so I get to spend a lot of time with them. They work at home too, providing inspiration for my writing. My husband and I have an unusually quiet social life-because we don't like to leave the dogs home alone. I'm lucky in that my husband is equally devoted to our dogs, so there are no petty arguments or resentments.

I spend hours researching my dogs' health care issues, while ignoring my own. I feed my dogs a home-prepared diet, then pour myself a bowl of cereal. The only exercise I get is with my dogs-taking a walk without them in unfathomable.

I'm not saying I'm the perfect dogmom. There's plenty more I could be doing for my dogs (daily massage and more training and fun activities come to mind). But my waking thoughts do revolve around them-and sometimes my dreams do too.

But do I get respect from non-dog people for my dedication to my dogs' needs? No way. Most people think I'm nuts.

I feel as connected to my poodles as I suspect mothers of pre-verbal children feel, which is to say, extremely connected. I feel I know what they're thinking. I can come up with their opinions on virtually any subject. I've learned to trust that if I think the dogs feel a certain way about something, they probably do.

My little family, which consists of Kramer, Scout, and my husband Barry, are my life. I'm fulfilled. I'll grow old without human children to care for me. But I'll always have a dog to love and return my love.

Seems perfectly normal to me. But even other dog people in the off-leash park we frequent think I go overboard. My poor, deprived dogs don't get to do lots of stuff the other dogs are doing. I don't let my dogs in the lake because the water's disgusting. I won't let them walk off-leash anywhere near a road, even a seldom-used park road. I won't let anyone give them chemical-laden commercial dog treats.

Am I overprotective? Maybe. Sometimes I shudder to think how neurotic any human children I might have would be. But I'll probably never find out.

I couldn't love my dogs any more than I do, not even if they were human children. Yet if they were human, my dedication to them wouldn't be looked upon critically. If they were human, I'd just be considered a good mother, not an eccentric.

And the sad truth is that when my dogs live out their too-short lives (and I don't' care if they live to be 20, their lives will be too short) and I become a basket case, only a very few special friends (along with a bunch of wonderful friends from the Internet) will understand my grief.

But I'll gladly accept the lack of respect from people who don't understand in exchange for the love and respect Kramer and Scout give me.

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