FATHERHOOD?
After we divorced 20 years later, I was shocked that she left me with custody of Baby, her “daughter.” They had been inseparable, to the extent that I often felt like a third wheel. When we rescued Baby five years ago, it was clear that she had been horribly abused, and would need a great deal of care. My ex, a natural care-taker, assumed the lion’s share of those responsibilities. Our split-up occurred at the very beginning of Covid. For almost a year, Baby was the only being with whom I had physical contact. The care and feeding and loving of my dog became the central focus of my life. We grew as close as Siamese twins, attached at the hip. It was (and is) a profound pleasure being velcroed to a munchkin who is affectionate, loyal, mischievous, neurotic (like her owner), endlessly entertaining, and belly-laugh funny. It felt like my life was a buddy movie, with a buddy who slept on my bed, inches from me, with her head resting on a pillow.
I don’t necessarily think of myself as Baby’s father, but when dog owners refer to themselves as their dog’s “mommy” or “daddy”, I never think it’s silly. I relate. At this point in my life, it is highly doubtful I will ever be a father, but I know someone who thinks I’m hers.