A Trip Down Memory Lane Inspired by Guilt

Minnie is SO not loving having another dog around. Let me rephrase that. Minnie hates Bugger so much that if she could speak, she would say to me, "You ruined my life, you ignorant slut." In fact, yesterday Brady was shamelessly pandering for some cuddles and just as I leaned down to pet him, Minnie walked in the room. I swear, the look on her dog face was the same look female actresses use when they're portraying a character who walks into her own home to find her husband in bed with another woman. Horror. Heartbreak. Disgust. Disbelief. Then again, perhaps I'm giving Minnie too much credit. Or not enough credit to the likes of Markie Post and Tori Spelling.

My hope was that after fostering Bugger for a while, we'd just sign the papers and say, "Yeah, we're just a bunch of suckers for a fuzzy face and a bouncy gait. We'll take him." But Minnie is struggling with sharing me with any other dog-like entity. And I feel pretty damn bad about that.

Then I think about my own childhood and I feel even worse! After all, I am doing to Minnie what was done to me, lo these 32 years ago, when my parents dethroned my only-child ass by bringing home a baby brother. I can still vividly recall the evening: I had been spending days at my grandmother's house and evenings at my beloved Nana's house while my poor mother was in the hospital with her 3-week-overdue pregnant stomach. During dinner at Nana's, the phone rang. A few minutes later, Nana hung up and whooped with her characteristic enthusiasm, "Hooray! You have a baby brother!" and then she picked me up, hugging me and spinning me around. She set me down and I can still remember looking at her doubtfully. "Are you sure?" I said, "Because I was really hoping we could get a dog instead." She probably laughed and hugged me again and gave me a great pep talk about the joys of being a big sister - I don't remember, but I do remember I wasn't buying it. If being a big sister was so great, why did everybody go for the hard sell?

That night I had a very vivid dream during which the Blue Fairy of Pinocchio fame (don't ask) told me that my new baby brother would immediately need some Flintstones chewable vitamins and an overnight bag that was soft like a stuffed animal. The next morning my dad came to pick me up and bring me back home where the intruder baby and my mother were waiting for us. In the car on the way home, I told my dad I was ready to assume big sister responsibilities and thus, we would need to stop at the drug store and pick up some Flintstones chewables and then a nice soft overnight bag.

Heaven bless my father. That man didn't protest. Hell, he didn't even blink. Here's a man with a four-and-a-half year old daughter who's clearly already headed for the loony bin and a giant blob/baby impersonator waiting at home with an exhausted wife and what did he do? He drove us straight to the nearest Revco (I believe) and plunked down some of his hard-earned cash for Flintstones chewables and an overnight bag that was shaped like a lady-bug. No questions asked. Because I guess it was more important to him that my request - although inspired by a fairy-tale character - seem reasonable to me. And perhaps because he wanted me to get off to a good start with my big-sister responsibilities. Or maybe he didn't want me to feel stupid and insignificant in light of the new family situation. I don't know. Maybe I'll ask him one of these days.

So if Minnie tells me that Bugger needs an overnight bag and some Flintstones chewable vitamins, and she knows this because a fairy-princess told her during a dream, I am all over it.