My granddog and me

I dearly love my sweet, dumb, energetic, big, poorly-trained goof granddog who likes to try to kill me – no joke, he recently pulled me into a tree while trying to make a new friend – who moved back in with me (as did my son). When my granddog and son are with me, I share dogcare with my son. When I’m sitting the floof, I have all his care.

When I talk about my granddog, I often, automatically, unthinkingly, inadvertently, refer to him as my dog. My granddog and me. My dog and me. Not-so-subtle difference, and a very wise client very gently pointed that out. It’s important for all of us to take on only as much responsibilty as we can, as appropriate, whatever the obligation. My son and I both walk the dog, but my son is taking on many more of the after-dark, in-the-rain expeditions. Balance, equity, teamwork.

I dislike cars intensely: 30 years of driving after leaving my beloved Nu Yawk, and I still wish I could drive a horse. So when my 2010 RAV4 finally decided to go on permanent strike, my son, who loves cars, found my replacement, every stage of a process that would have been a mind-numbing and bewildering burden for me. But I’m often doing my son’s laundry, because I can and because it makes sense for me to coordinate that task with my own laundry. Balance, equity, teamwork.

I’m a doctor, not a mechanic.