In defense of dogs

BN LegoGuy was bitten by our dog a couple of nights ago. One of her upper incisors punctured his thigh. Thankfully, she didn't draw blood, but the bite mark later turned purple and blue and really looked nasty for about half an hour.

While my son stood there, clutching his leg and holding back tears of pain, my first reaction was not to fly to his aid and take care of the wound -- (I stayed on the couch with my book in hand) -- no, my first reaction was to defend the dog.

Before you fly at me, questioning my mother love, let me just point out that both my children have a heightened sense of drama when it comes to their injuries. A paper cut, scuffed toe, or the imprint of carpet on flesh can send them rushing to the medicine cabinet for a fresh bandaid. A sprained ankle becomes a broken leg, with bone popping through the skin. A bump on the head turns into a concussion. These kids are constantly begging to have their arms bandaged, sore muscles iced, and cuts cauterized. (Okay, maybe I went too far on that last one.) In short, they are hypochondriacs.

So it's understandable that I merely glanced in LegoGuy's direction when he let out a rebel yell.

Still, I felt I had to offer some kind of defense for the dog, because frankly, my husband is not a pet person. SO is a lot of wonderful things, but a dog lover he is not. He can't work up much enthusiasm for Bella, our West Highland White Terrier, a dog with a big heart (and a significant heart murmur). She truly is a handful. But despite her many flaws, I love that little dog. She's playful, funny, and loving. I admit I treat her more like a little girl than a dog. And SO doesn't get that. To him, a dog is just another responsibility, an animal that should stay outside and never, ever get up on the couch to snuggle with her favorite human. She gets on his nerves.

Anyway, I waited a few minutes before saying anything, but I finally did tell him (after he'd cleaned LegoGuy's injury with peroxide) that Bella had been jumping up for her toy and missed. Since the child had been twirling the toy in front of his leg, and was wearing only boxers, the dog had bitten his leg rather than her intended target.

"Stupid dog," was SO's response. He'd put his finger on something. There was a certain level of stupidity attached to what had happened.

I'm thinking the next time LegoGuy plays with Bella, he'll wear more clothes.