Daughters of the Dirt / Sarah Higdon

Alta Dog
by Michelle Peterson

I have not been a very good pet mommy. I have a friend who has a pet prospering in every room of her house. There’s an aquarium in the living room, a Beta fish in her daughter’s room and a hamster in her son’s. There’s a dog who fills all above ground spaces and turtles who fill them below. There’s a Hermit Crab, Milo. I would not be surprised to find that she’s been nursing a small Sugar Glider in a mini-sling under her t-shirt all of these years. After our first visit there, years ago, little Sam said to me, “You suck, mom. Why can’t we have pets. Are you too lazy?” At least that’s how I remember it.

Since then, we have had four pet attempts in this house. As I look back on it, the first three were all desperate cries for affirmation that ended abominably and required triage.

The first one was a Beta fish named Mo’ Beta. Sam was an all-consuming three-year old, but a fish only needs a little food and a clean bowl. Piece o’ cake. Sam loved Mo’, I was The Good Mother and all of this bliss lasted for a whole two days. Then Sam forgot about Mo’ and he turned into a weekly cleaning I just didn’t have time for. Hairpin regression. While doing dishes in the evenings, I would peer across the dining room and see the red and blue form navigating the scum. It left me feeling waspish and regretful. After weeks of this and a baby on the way, I couldn’t take it any longer. The Crappy Mother. We gave Mo’ to a neighbor and there he became his namesake.

I didn’t have to explain the end of Mo’ to Sam. He was too young and he never asked. I loved my immediate emancipation. Much like the end of an unfortunate relationship.

The next attempt came ten months later, just on the heals of Isabel’s entrance into our lives. This one was a runt of a guinea pig. It was furry and affectionate and I felt reinvigorated. Sam would hold the tiny creature swathed in a dishtowel in his lap and sit adoring him. We named him Frodo knowing that he and Master Samwise would grow together and have many adventures in Middle Earth, the pet leading the master to spiritual truths. We had Frodo for about five months and in that time he blossomed into a big, furry pet the size of a large Elmo slipper.

With two young children in the house my only time for solitude was in the wee hours of the morning with coffee and the paper. I tried to slink around and not wake any creature, but our rodent had big ears. He would hear me and start to squeal. You have no idea. My milk would let down and the baby would wake up. After that I closed all of the doors and hid him in the bathroom, but I felt so damn negligent. Someone needed me and I couldn’t oblige. This escalated for about a month and then I gave Frodo away too.

The end of Frodo was much more complex than the end of Mo’, as you can imagine. Sam still asks me why I gave him away. It really was awful, but this was the quagmire: happy mom or happy child. There was no in between. I decided for me and I still hate myself for it.

(As I write this I can’t for the life of me figure out why this didn’t deter me from pets altogether).

Jump forward a few years and I’m a single mom, husband-free, but still petless. I am consistently reminded that we don’t have a pet (no one really mentions much about the husband part except once Isabel asked if Chris, my fiancé who is allergic to cats, could move out so we could get a kitten). I’m teaching high school and one day, fortuitously just before Sam’s sixth birthday, a student brings a Giant African Millipede into our classroom. Immediately, god knows why, I recognize it as the perfect pet for us. It doesn’t need to be walked, it doesn’t need affection, it makes no noises and has no smell. Basically, it can be ignored. It’s not cute (it’s actually quite creepy), but it’s interesting and maybe this is just what Sam pleads for. It could be like one of those potato bugs he collects. Only a hundred times larger.

Sam never touched it. He recoiled at first sight, both pet and boy rolling into a ball of protection, never intended for one another. I tried to keep Curly. I actually learned to pick it up (pet rule #1: never get one that has confusing pronouns). It would leave this stinging acid on your arm after it crawled on you, but it was a small price to pay to show my kids how to handle such a creature. I’m sure Jeff Corwin would agree.

It was with us a month, and before I took it back to the exotic pet store, it made it to two show and tells, grossed out one repair man and ate a cucumber. Not a bad stop over.

You’ll be relieved to know that I renounced the pet parade for many years after that. It took time, but I realized that it wasn’t just the responsibility that deterred me from a pet, it was the cage. I wish I had figured this out three heartaches ago: I can’t cage an animal. I concluded that what I had wanted all along was a dog and I knew I’d have to wait until we were all ready to get one. I’m slow like that.

Our rescued girl found us a few years later. We named her Alta after our favorite ski area because it is rejuvenating. It’s also unfussy and fun. It’s exhilaration and play and enchantment.

She has come to my children not as an avalanche, but as a gentle nighttime snowfall of gladness and solace. She is creature comfort.

One day Sam was crying over the heaviness of 3rd grade. Damn tough year. He sobbed behind the three feet of impervious air that floats around eight year old boys. I tried to melt the wall with my words, but he kept crying. Then Alta walked in to scout out the commotion and Sam dropped to his knees, burying his small head into her deep mane and let it go. Alta didn’t move. I didn’t move. I now can’t imagine the bonding and unraveling, the reaching and vanquishing of childhood without a dog.

For me it’s been somewhat different. I am, after all, the main caretaker and dogs are a lot of work. But she is such a sweet, gorgeous girl I sometimes wonder if there’s been a turnover in the heavens and the new gods weren’t informed of my past regressions. I do not deserve such an animal.

The other night I was up late as I, um, well, I have head lice. Yes- “My name is Michelle and I have head lice”. I see you squirm. Just wait, if you have kids you’ll get lice. But that’s another pet story altogether. So, I couldn’t sleep through all that itching. I sat on the couch and tried to watch some TV. Nothing on. Alta was on her dog bed. I turned the TV off, scratched my head and looked over at her. She scratched behind her ear and looked up at me. I smiled. Then I acquiesced and she came up on the couch. I petted her soft head and she nuzzled her nose down into her perfect paws and thunk, thunk, thunked her tail on the cushion. I buried my face in her deep mane and let it go. Alta didn’t move. I didn’t move. Maybe, just maybe, I can’t imagine the bonding and unraveling, the reaching and vanquishing of parenthood without a dog.

Good girl.
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Michelle Peterson is mom to Sam and Isabel and fiance to Chris (who can't imagine life without the smell of a wet dog), a high school French teacher and owner of Groovy Moon Clothing. She lives and writes in Austin, but she longs to take Alta to Alta and frolick in the snow.

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