CANINE CONFIDENTIAL

Vicki Sleet wonders why dog-mom guilt is even worse than mom guilt.

Get a dog”, they said. “Children need a dog”, they said. “A house is not a home without a dog”, they said. What they didn’t say is that helpless little puppies can and often do grow to be big, 30kg, bark-at the-moon, let-me-onto-the-bed, catfood-thieving hounds that have an unnerving ability to worm their way into the deepest corners of your heart. And just when you think you have a handle on this new-found love and have instilled some discipline into the fifth (and possibly the favourite) child, you make the fatal error of adopting another furry child, rescued from the depths of despair.

Said sixth child is of the Jack Russell, can-barely-be-trained, likes cuddles just after indulging in cat poo for breakfast ilk. Or rolling in mud before jumping onto a clean, white bed. A special art, that.

But I digress. The point of this convoluted introduction into the characters of our dogs, Lola (3) and Snowy (1), is to explore why it is that dog-mom guilt feels that much more visceral, intense and heart-wrenching than human-mom guilt. What’s with that? Part of me thinks it’s because they are somewhat helpless without us, but another part thinks that we have entered into a polyamorous relationship with two narcissists who – like the very worst of their human counterparts – can never be rehabilitated.