People keep calling dogs fur babies.
We decided to see what would happen if everyone stopped speaking metaphorically.
Not just the cuddling.
Not just the baby talk.
Everything.
The car seats.
The midnight feedings.
The changing table.
The stroller.
The baby monitor.
The exhausted parents standing in a dark kitchen at 3:17 in the morning wondering when, exactly, they lost control of their lives.
Except the baby is a dog.
And nobody seems to find this unusual.
So we imagined a world where bringing home a dog really does mean bringing home a baby.
A very furry baby.
Sometimes a 12-pound baby.
Sometimes an 85-pound baby.
And occasionally a baby who can reach the kitchen counter without assistance.
Welcome home.
Coming Home
There are moments you remember forever.
The first time you walk through the front door.
The grandparents waiting inside.
Everyone crowding around to meet the newest member of the family.
You carry him carefully.
You tell everyone to give him a little space.
Someone immediately ignores you.
There are photographs.
Possibly tears.
And approximately fourteen minutes later, someone asks who he looks more like.
Bringing home a fur baby is a very big day.
The Changing Table
Nobody really prepares you for how much equipment one small baby requires.
Wipes.
Towels.
Creams.
Fresh linens.
A suspicious number of tiny containers.
And, apparently, an entire piece of furniture dedicated to the operation.
He doesn’t understand why he’s here.
He doesn’t particularly approve of the situation.
And judging by the expression on his face, he would like to speak with whoever authorized this.
The 3:17 A.M. Feeding
You got him back to sleep at 1:48.
For a while, you thought you might actually make it until morning.
You were wrong.
Now you’re sitting in the rocker in the dark, wearing yesterday’s T-shirt, holding a bottle in one hand and a very awake fur baby in the other.
In less than two hours, your alarm will go off.
At 8:30, you’re giving the biggest presentation of your career.
Right now, you’re just hoping he finishes the bottle, burps quickly and goes back to sleep without realizing you’ve put him down.
Because if those eyes open again, nobody is going back to sleep.
The High Chair
Breakfast was going well.
Then breakfast started going on the floor.
And the chair.
And the dog.
And, somehow, the wall.
He seems delighted with the arrangement.
His father, who needs to leave for work in approximately twenty minutes, has reached a slightly different conclusion.
There will be time to clean this up.
Probably.
Right after the bib comes off.
The floor gets wiped.
The wall gets scrubbed.
And somebody figures out how breakfast ended up six feet from the high chair.
He has nowhere to be today. You do.
The Burping
The bottle is empty.
You are not done.
Now comes the gentle patting.
The slow pacing.
The little bounce you’ve somehow learned to do without anyone teaching you.
And the quiet negotiation with a very full fur baby who has become considerably heavier since falling asleep on your shoulder.
Eventually, there is a burp.
A surprisingly impressive one.
You smile.
He doesn’t even wake up.
Parenthood changes what you consider an achievement.
Tummy Time
Apparently, this is important.
So every afternoon, the blanket goes down.
The toys come out.
And everyone gets on the floor to encourage a fur baby who appears perfectly content to remain exactly where he is.
You shake a toy.
Call his name.
Move it slightly closer.
Nothing.
Then, finally, he lifts his head approximately three inches.
You cheer like he just won an Olympic medal.
He immediately puts it back down.
That seems like enough development for one day.
The Jolly Jumper
At some point, somebody decides he has too much energy.
This is presented as a problem.
The Jolly Jumper is installed.
He is placed inside.
There is a brief moment of uncertainty.
Then his feet touch the floor.
Bounce.
Bounce.
BOUNCE.
Within thirty seconds, he has discovered both gravity and a completely new way to abuse it.
You stand nearby wondering whether this was an excellent idea or a terrible one.
He has already decided.
Best. Day. Ever.
The Baby Monitor
You hear something.
Or at least you think you hear something.
So you reach for the monitor.
Nothing.
You stare at the screen for a few seconds.
Still nothing.
Then two eyes appear in the darkness.
He’s standing in the crib.
Wide awake.
Completely silent.
Looking directly into the camera.
You don’t move.
He doesn’t move.
And somehow, despite being three rooms away, you both understand exactly what happens next.
Nobody is sleeping anymore.
He Won’t Sleep
You’ve tried everything.
The bottle.
The rocking chair.
The quiet walk around the house.
The even quieter walk around the house because apparently the first walk was too stimulating.
Eventually, you find yourself pacing the hallway with a very sleepy fur baby draped over your shoulder.
His eyes close.
You stop moving.
His eyes open.
You start moving again.
This continues until neither of you remembers who is supposed to be putting whom to sleep.
Then, finally, he’s out.
Now comes the most dangerous part.
Putting him down.
The Stroller
Fresh air is important.
So is getting out of the house.
Which is why, every afternoon, the stroller comes out.
There is a blanket.
A favourite toy.
Possibly a snack for later.
And one extremely comfortable fur baby who has absolutely no intention of walking anywhere.
You push.
He watches the neighbourhood go by.
People smile.
Some people stare.
He sits a little taller.
Apparently, being a baby is exhausting.
The Car Seat
Getting out of the house used to be simple.
Keys.
Wallet.
Shoes.
Leave.
Now there are straps.
Buckles.
Blankets.
A bag containing enough supplies to survive a minor emergency.
And one fur baby who somehow becomes completely boneless the moment you try to get him into the car seat.
Eventually, everything clicks into place.
You check the straps.
Then check them again.
He settles back and looks out the window.
You haven’t even started the car yet.
You’re already twelve minutes late.
The Baby Gate
Apparently, he’s mobile now.
Which means the house needs to be baby-proofed.
The gate goes up.
The latch is checked.
Then checked again.
Mom steps to the other side and looks back, satisfied that her fur baby is finally safe.
He looks at the gate.
Then at his legs.
Then back at the gate.
There is approximately six inches of Dachshund standing between the floor and his stomach.
The gate is nearly three feet tall.
He considers the situation carefully.
He’s a dog with short legs, not a cat.
Bath Time
Bath time used to be considerably more practical.
A little shampoo.
A quick rinse.
A towel waiting nearby.
Apparently, those days are over.
Now there are bubbles.
Candles.
Warm towels.
And a fur baby who has discovered that closing his eyes while someone gently washes his hair is considerably nicer than standing in the shower.
He settles deeper into the bubbles.
Mom keeps washing.
Nobody appears to be in any hurry.
At this point, you’re not entirely sure whether this is bath time or a spa appointment.
He doesn’t care.
Either way, he’d like to book again tomorrow.
Story Time
He picked the same book.
Again.
You have read this book so many times you no longer need to look at the words.
You know every page.
Every picture.
Every pause.
You know exactly what happens next.
He does not.
Apparently.
He leans closer.
Completely captivated.
You turn the page and watch his eyes get wider.
For him, this story has lost absolutely none of its magic.
For you, this is approximately reading number 400.
Tomorrow night, he’ll pick it again.
The Babysitter
Leaving him for the evening sounded simple.
Then the babysitter arrived.
Dinner is at six.
Walk at seven.
He likes the blue blanket, not the grey one.
If he brings you the rabbit, you’re supposed to throw it.
But not too far.
And if he looks tired, he probably isn’t.
You hand over the instructions.
Put on your coat.
Make it almost all the way to the door.
Then remember one more thing.
Your partner is already waiting outside.
The babysitter smiles politely.
The dog appears completely unconcerned.
You’ll probably text her from the restaurant.
Grandma’s Here
She came to see you.
Technically.
The door opens.
The dog sees her.
Grandma sees the dog.
And whatever relationship the two of you had before this moment is temporarily suspended.
There are kisses.
There is baby talk.
There are repeated questions about whether he’s been eating enough.
She brought him a present.
Of course she brought him a present.
You offer to take her coat.
She doesn’t hear you.
You’re standing six feet away holding her bag while she tells him how much Grandma missed her beautiful boy.
She has been in the house for approximately forty seconds.
She still hasn’t hugged you.
You know exactly where you rank now.
The Family Photo
You wanted one nice picture.
Everyone dressed properly.
The room looked beautiful.
The light was perfect.
You sat down.
Smiled.
And for approximately three seconds, everything was going according to plan.
Then the dog got involved.
There was licking.
There was squirming.
Someone lost their grip.
Nobody was looking at the camera.
Eventually, you gave up.
A week later, the photos arrived.
You looked through them.
Stopped at one.
And ordered the biggest frame you could find.
Turns out, it was the perfect family photo.
First Birthday
You made it.
One whole year.
There were sleepless nights.
Early mornings.
Baths.
Strollers.
Babysitters.
And considerably more worrying than you remember agreeing to.
But today, none of that matters.
There are balloons.
Presents.
Grandma is here.
Everyone is gathered around.
And directly in front of the birthday boy is a beautiful little cake that took someone several hours to make.
It survives approximately four seconds.
Nobody stops him.
In fact, everyone applauds.
He looks around at his family, frosting covering most of his face, completely certain he has done something extraordinary.
To be fair, he has.
The Loose Tooth
It had been wiggly for days.
Everyone knew it was coming out.
The question was how.
Eventually, someone remembered the string.
Someone else suggested the door.
Dad explained the plan very carefully.
He made it sound completely reasonable.
The dog listened.
Looked at the string.
Looked at the door.
Then looked back at Dad.
His brother, meanwhile, has been given control of the doorknob and is enjoying this responsibility considerably more than anyone should.
There is a countdown.
Three.
Two.
Wait.
Wait.
He would like to reconsider the entire arrangement.
The Tooth Fairy
He finally lost it.
There was considerable excitement.
The tooth was carefully saved.
Bedtime arrived.
And somehow, despite everything that happened earlier, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Now comes the important part.
Dad waits until the house is quiet.
Tiptoes into the bedroom.
Carefully lifts the pillow.
His brother watches from the doorway.
Nobody makes a sound.
The tooth disappears.
A treat takes its place.
By morning, he’ll be absolutely convinced something magical happened.
Some traditions are too important to skip.
And We Could Keep Going
This is probably where we should stop.
Not because we’ve run out of milestones.
Quite the opposite.
There could be a first day at daycare.
A first trip to the dog park.
Swimming lessons.
School pictures.
Sleepovers.
Graduation.
Eventually, someone would probably start looking at colleges.
And that’s when we realized we may have taken this far enough.
For now.
Because people have been calling dogs their fur babies for years.
We simply made the mistake of taking them literally.
Although, looking back at all of this, we’re no longer entirely sure it was a mistake.
