The other day I was walking my four dogs to the park, each of them going in a different direction – one trying to attack a squirrel, another eating some old chicken bone off the ground, still another unearthing a used condom. I came upon a woman with a triplet stroller; three neat little bundles sleeping side by side. An elderly man walked by and said, “God bless you.” Another woman with a toddler said to her, “I don’t know how you do it.”
The woman with the triplets nodded and smiled, and I thought, “Right, give her the credit, but who really has the harder job here?” Hint: Person who had to look at a used condom.
For a long time, I’ve kept quiet about this – “Oh boo hoo, it’s so hard to raise children, dogs are so easy” – but no more. It’s time for us all to be honest. It is way harder to raise fur babies than skin babies.
Obviously, the woman in the park with Huey, Dewey, and Louie, was a clear illustration of how much easier it is to have kids. She had them in the park, but she didn’t NEED to take them to the park. She could’ve had her feet up on the couch, smoking a cigarette and reading the Enquirer. Why? Because humans don’t have to go outside to go to the bathroom. And babies? They don’t even need toilet paper, they just go in their diapers, and no one ever has to know. So that’s one thing.
And don’t even get me started on the other kid habits. Actually, let’s go: What’s this whole business about biting? Why is that “natural” for kids but totally unthinkinable FOR DOGS? Sure, if a preschooler bites another preschooler, the parents might get called, and the kid might get kicked out of the school, but if that were a pit bull? Death. So let’s go over this one – kid bite: expulsion; dog bite: execution.
And that brings up another thing: Let’s say you want to put your dogs into puppy kindergarten or some kind of doggie boarding school? You are stuck with the bill. Forget canine loans, they don’t exist. You’d think, though, in all fairness, they’d have merit scholarships or athletic scholarships or even artistic scholarships, but no. They don’t. It kills me when I see the level of athleticism some of my friends’ dogs have. A lab I know can catch a Frisbee at thirty feet. Do you think he could at least get free textbooks for that? The answer is no. How about my Wisteria who can chew through any width of leather: Does she get an award? Do you think a leather-chewing kid would get recognized? You bet he would. College scouts would be lining up to sign him for the leather chewing team!
And after college? Forget it. Everyone knows when a child graduates from college, he can immediately get a job paying six to seven figures. The parents are set. They can kick off their shoes and start getting supported in high style. But no one will hire a dog regardless of how many advanced degrees he has. He will never get a CFO position. Heck, he can’t even get an afterschool job that you can pilfer from! You have to support the dog until the end of his days.
And the thing that really kills me? If that woman wants to take her little, sweet triple stroller over to Starbucks and have a decaf chai latte with skim milk, she can just roll in there, plop down at a table, have a latte and maybe a cranberry orange scone (415 cal.), read the paper, and la-di-da the day away. Me? I would have to tie my little angels outside, race in, grab a water from the case (because if I take any longer than that, some crazed mutt thief might nab my dogs), and get out. No sitting and lounging and enjoying the day, because for some inexplicable reason, dogs aren’t allowed in Starbucks or restaurants or delis or supermarkets. They’re not even allowed in Barnes and Noble! Do you think dogs would sit in the children’s department all day buggering up the books? No! Because they can’t read, and they don’t really like the pictures.
Which brings me to point IIX, section B, paragraph 11. Dogs can’t speak English (or Spanish or French or German or any of the so called “Earth” languages). They can’t tell you their tummy hurts, or they don’t like pink or that the Cookie Monster freaks them out. Kids can tell you their feelings or warn you if there’s a spider on your back. They are just so much easier. Also, kids say, “Mom, I’m going to throw up.” Dogs don’t have that skill. All they can do is walk to the carpet and heave up the dead rodent they ate when you weren’t looking.
So the next time you pass a woman with a triplet stroller and behind her there is a woman walking several dogs, remember which one has the cushy job and which one has the plastic bags falling out of her pockets.