This morning I read a post by another blogger, who was astounded that she had to tell her better half not to bite the dog. It reminded me of an afternoon when I went to pick my then-four-year-old daughter up from our care giver's house. Mamaw, as my children called her, greeted me with a look of concern on her face.
"I had to reprimand Jennifer today," she explained. "She bit Fritzy."
What? My daughter bit the schnauzer she loved so much? What on earth was this all about?
A bit more inquiry into the incident revealed that Jen, while hugging and petting Fritzy, had suddenly bit the dog right on his ear, drawing blood. Mamaw had stepped in and rescued Fritzy, putting Jen in time-out, and explaining, "we do NOT bite the dog!"
When I had Jen alone that evening, I asked her why she had bit Fritzy. In the most innocent voice I have ever heard she explained, "Mommy, I just love him so much I wanted to taste him!" Well, I assured her that we need not "taste everything we love" and that dogs are as good of place as any to draw that line.
I mentioned to my then-hubby, her father, that we might need to start a "psychiatric savings fund." I thought it an equal likelihood of necessity as the already begun "college fund."