b Papa Dog's Blog: Whose Toy Is It Anyway?

Papa Dog's Blog

A Thing Wherein I Infrequently Write Some Stuff

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Whose Toy Is It Anyway?

A while back, Mama Dog took a shine to a stuffed mallard toy that the Whippets bought for their whippets. It makes a honky quacking noise when squeezed in the jaws of a dog or other like-sized mammal. Mama Dog thought it terribly cute.

The other day, while taking Baby Dog for a sojourn on Fourth Street, Mama Dog came across the very same stuffed mallard at a yuppie pet store. It occurred to Mama Dog that the mallard could be just as good a baby toy as a dog toy, and given Baby Dog’s continuing duck mania, it seemed just the thing. She showed the mallard to Baby Dog, and the sale was sealed.

When I got home from work today, Mama Dog was just about to have story time with Baby Dog. I joined them on the bed, and we took turns reading to Baby Dog. It was all very Norman Rockwell. Doggy Dog whined at the foot of the bed. He used to be allowed up, but has been banished since the arrival of the baby. Still, he sometimes thinks an exception will be made. If the other three family members are cuddled on the bed, surely the fourth will be allowed to join the party. I suggested he be quiet and lie down.

After we had finished with Bus Stops (too advanced), I Love My Mommy Because… (narrative too weak), and Five Little Ducks (just right, despite the cop-out Hollywood ending), I leaned over the side of the bed to get something, and my eye was caught be an unexpected sight. There in the doorway to the kitchen was the stuffed mallard. There curled up by the stuffed mallard was Doggy Dog. “Uh…” I said, “…did Baby Dog leave the mallard in kitchen?” “No,” Mama Dog replied with some curiosity, “it’s in the living room.” “Mm. Not no more.” I examined the duck. Sure enough, it was coated with dog drool. Doggy Dog looked not the least bit sheepish.

“I guess it can be his now,” Mama Dog said. It is a dog toy.” I suppose it could be a consolation prize for losing his spot on the bed. I suppose we should keep the safety gate closed when there are toys all over the living room floor. I suppose we’re rewarding him for acting out. I suppose that’s what you get when you buy a dog toy for a baby.


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