Mom battles co-conspirators: baby and dog

My latest Daily Press column:

About four months into my marriage I told my husband that I needed a puppy or a baby.

"You’re great," I told him. "But I need something to take care of."

A few weeks later, we picked up our skinny, timid Weimaraner and named her Lady. My instincts took over instantly.

Family and friends were forbidden from giving her table food because it upset her stomach. We arranged baby sitters if we were going to be out for more than a few hours, and I let her snuggle in our bed despite my previous tirades against dogs in beds.

Two years later, we brought home another tiny bundle. This one wasn’t so skinny — he weighed almost 10 pounds — and his cries were anything but timid. Once again, my instincts took over.

I guarded my new baby’s food jealously, prohibiting everything but baby food and formula. The only arranged baby sitters were family, and the dog was kicked out of bed to make room for our baby.

My now-grown Lady was second string.

I anticipated that change and apologized to Lady in advance. I worried that we would have to give her up if the two didn’t get along. But I never imagined my two charges would work together against me.

That phenomenon occurred about the same time Brody began taking his meals in a highchair. He figured out that the sniffing beast under his chair would lick his fingers, and the sniffing beast discovered a whole new array of tasty treats.

To combat this dinner time conspiracy, I transformed into a contortionist of sorts, extending one leg to block the dog and reaching with the opposite arm to spoon feed the baby.
Apparently, I’m no match for this baby-dog duo.

Usually, I’m able to sneak most of Brody’s meat and vegetable mash into his mouth while Lady circles the table and Brody leans from side to side luring her with his sticky hands.

But there are times — more often than I’d like to admit — that the two outsmart me.

One particularly harried evening, the pair mastered their dinner dance so well — Lady had scored at least half-a-dozen drive-by lickings while Brody dumped out the entire contents of his baby food jar in an attempt to hand it to her — that I gave up dinner altogether.

"You feed him," I snapped at my husband as he walked through the front door. "I’m done with these two. It’s like they’re executing some carefully plotted strategy."

But, though the kinship was born at the table, it doesn’t end there.

All of our training efforts in baby-toy avoidance were lost once Brody was able to offer his toys. His bird-like call prompts Lady to come, and when he shoots out his fist full of stuffed animals, she gingerly accepts one and trots away. She even begrudgingly shares her bone during those mom’s-not-looking moments.

And for a few bizarre moments, I’ve caught Brody acting more like a dog than a human.

During his favorite imitation, he crawls around the house with a toy dangling from his mouth. And whenever the doorbell rings or a stranger walks in front of the house, Brody is right alongside Lady "arf-arfing."

On the positive side, my 8 tennis-ball-obsessed dog has found a new playtime partner, and the two of them occupy each other for hours. Brody has become quite the pitcher, even impressing a few older playmates with his launching skills.

Even so, I worry when I read stories about dog bites, and we’ve been working on petting Lady "nice" and "easy." But I think Brody has found himself a best friend.