For the love of what?, I hear you ask.
I can thank my wonderful mother for this term. She is German (hello again, Deutschland!) and, for most of my life, has held a rather sturdy view of the psychological state of people who needed pets in their life. She felt that there was something wrong with someone who required the love of a cat or a dog. When we had our first dog, Sonny, she all but tolerated him. Sometimes you would see her crack and pat him, but that was it on the affection front. Sonny always regarded her with apprehension; little love sprang forth, but she steadily fed him and made sure he was looked after when we younger less responsible folk occasionally neglected our pet duties.
You can only imagine the horror with which she considered my announcement some years ago that I planned to acquire not 1, but 2, dogs. What would they do while I was at work! They would be so much trouble, not worth it at all. If she suffered horror when they were just a twinkle in my eye, you can then appreciate how her head exploded when I actually picked them up and then – promptly – dumped them on her to poo and wee on her carpet to their hearts’ content as I skipped off interstate for work.
I honestly thought her lips would stay stuck in that pursed pose, particularly when the wing changed direction.
To my absolute amazement, within 2 days she was completely smitten by them. Within weeks of their arrival, she actually turned up to my house when I was at work and dog-napped them, returning them only days later when I stomped my foot and demanded them back.
She is now really their primary carer – she sees them most days and, when they are not at her place as part of our shared custody arrangements, she comes to my house and sits with them. She pours over their skin to identify any sign of a rash and, when they have colds, she actually wipes their noses. She even got a rash once for kissing them on the nose (so much for the German indifference to pets).
There is one downside with her spending so much time with them: separation anxiety. They can’t be left to themselves for great lengths of time without ripping up toilet paper or sitting on the couch in protest. However, she refuses to leave them, exacerbating the separation anxiety problem.
Why?
Because dogs don’t last long enough.
10-12 years of life is nowhere near enough when you fall so deeply in love that they feel like her grandchildren. I know what you’re thinking; but they do feel like my kids. And since they don’t last long enough, it’s the right – the only – thing to spend as much time as possible with them. This, my friend, is petship. Her cross between friendship, companionship, and straight love for our pets.
To not spend that time with them would be to commit the most heinous of pet crimes: it would be a waste of petship.
