For roaring fires, hot chocolate, giving and family.
And also for dog boots.
Like most dogs, our dogs hate dog boots. Hate them. Murphy usually looks at me like “Why would you DO this to me!? I thoughts we were FRIENDS!” And then he proceeds to walk around the house like he’s wearing swim flippers.
Tiberius hates the dog boots just as much but has a more passive approach.
Every time I wrestle the dog boots onto the dogs and they fight me in quiet anger I start to flash ahead to the
hundreds, thousands, MILLIONS of things I will do to this on-the-way baby, all of which will be for his own good, that he will hate me for.
The times I’ll tell him he needs to finish his homework, he can’t go to a party, he needs to wear a coat, he can’t watch that scary movie, he shouldn’t play on the roof, und so weiter.
“Why do you hate me!?” I’m sure he’ll yell at some point in his life, no doubt followed by slamming his door. Of course, I won’t hate him, I’ll just know what’s best for him even if he doesn’t realize it at that moment (in the way that kids never can realize).
I guess all this wrangling of dogs paws and boots is just a warm up for what I will eventually end up doing to a small human. Not putting boots on him (though I no doubt will do that), but doing what I know will keep him safe and happy, even if he doesn’t realize it.
And of course I have to remember that he won’t stay mad at me forever.