Please Don't Tell My Dog

As I lay in bed doing a fairly regular mental inventory of our belongings, and listing things in the order which I would grab them if the house caught on fire, I realized that my dog was no longer at the top of the list. This might explain her strange behavior towards me recently, except I am certain she doesn't know...yet. And please don't tell her. Perhaps you think it's morbid that I have a mental list of what I would grab if the house caught fire. But if it ever happens I'M going to be the morbid person who is prepared.

When I was younger, the first thing on the list would be the heroic rescue of all my family members and my mom's dog. That was a given. Then after that I would run back into the flaming skeleton of a house and majestically exit with my film and my camera. Not so I could take pictures of my burning house, but so that I would have the memories...and who wants to lug huge photo albums down the hall? So it was the film, and then the camera, for sentimental reasons.

In the last few years my priorities have changed. When I got Ally, the dog, she became my top priority (after my heroic rescue of all my family members of course). I imagined I would wake Derek, grab the dog, then the computer (because now all pictures are on the computer...ah the digital age), the camera, and then run out of the flaming skeleton of a house.

When we lived in a second story apartment I imagined what I might be able to toss out the window in order to save more. There was a conveniently placed bush that I imagined tossing the dog, the computer, my camera and then myself into. Forget the majestic exit with the halo of smoke. I was saving all I could and jumping out at the last minute.

Since I had Luke in June, the dog has finally been bumped from her #1 spot on my list. But worse than that, while I lay in bed imagining the house going up in smoke, I realized that everything on my list had been bumped. In fact, if I could grab the baby and get out of the house alive I wouldn't give a second thought to the dog, the computer, or the camera equipment...okay maybe a second thought. But only once I was out of the house safely with Luke would I even consider the things I had left behind. When I confessed this to one of my good friends she reminded me that dogs are quite intuitive and that maybe the dog would get out of the house on her own. This was a comforting thought, except for the fact that she sleeps locked in her crate at night. So if the house burns in the daytime she may have a chance. I also realize that it is a completely normal reaction of a mother to put her child's welfare above all else. But something tells me Ally would not understand; so please, don't tell my dog.

Pictures: Yesterday I assembled Luke's high chair. It's a space saver chair, which means it clips onto a kitchen chair. And he can use it already because it reclines. Don't remind me that he doesn't eat anything that requires a chair or a table top. It's just too cute to sit him in his chair at the table.