Preview of Parenthood

After nearly 30 years, I think I finally understand a little something about my sister.

My dog -- my awesome, smart, beautiful dog -- came home this weekend. (I call her mine because she came before SuperHusband, but truth be told, I think she's more his dog these days. He's a lot more fun for a dog that plays frisbee.)

When people ask us where she's been, we've affectionately said, "She's deployed." Because in the military vernacular, that's precisely where she's been. SuperHusband and I both left town in April and didn't really come back for any length of time until the first week in August. So we sent Ocean to stay with my parents in Kentucky for the summer.

She loves staying with my parents, because my dad constantly sneaks her "people food" -- which is strictly forbidden at home -- and he makes up for what he doesn't feed her directly by just generally being a "crummy" eater. She's crazy about my mom, too. My mom takes her to the park nearly every day on the family golf cart. Ocean honestly believes the tiny vehicle, complete with a tilting bed, belongs to her. She spends every possible second sitting in the passenger's seat, lest she be left behind when it goes adventuring.

The fun doesn't end there: My parents' street boasts a significantly higher activity level than our own -- particularly for a dog who loves to sit at the back door and act as the neighborhood sentry. Cats sneak across the property on the sidewalk behind the house, and squirrels eat from a corn feeder mounted on a tree right outside the door. I can only suppose that she's getting puppy hypertension after such a long trip home.

Nevertheless, she made it home late Friday night via the In-Law shuttle, and greeted us with overflowing love and appreciation. What an exciting reunion! She and SuperHusband have been frisbeeing and rolling around on the floor playing all weekend, and she's taken to napping like a G.I. finally making it to his bed after months away from home.

So imagine my surprise this morning when the In-Laws began packing the car, and I couldn't get Ocean to come back to the house. She woofed, pushed and maneuvered, attempting to get in the car at all costs, passionately determined to go back to Kentucky.

For years, I've watched my sister's reaction when her youngest children -- she's on her fourth, with the kids ranging from 17 to 3 years old -- cried and begged to stay with my mother. "Please, please. I w-w-want to stay w-w-with my Gran!" As I watched my In-Laws drive away (with Ocean tucked safely in the house by now), I could only imagine how much it hurt her to hear the wails and see those little arms extended, reaching desperately for my mother.