Life Lessons from Dog to Child

I’m walking around our neighborhood looking for a woman and her dog. I want to reassure her that the scare she had the other day resulted in some invaluable life lessons for my three-year-old daughter, Chiara.

Chiara and I were walking with my twin boys in the bulky double snap-n-go, (which is like pushing a small fleet of shopping carts.) We came upon our neighbor and her little black and white dog. The dog has this fancy collar that emits a blue light.

I point out the fancy collar to Chiara: “When it’s nighttime, the collar shines a light and then his mama can see her doggy.”

The owner and I joke about the day when I might need a similar kind of collar for the twins. We smile and part ways.

A little while later, Chiara gets mad about something or other. She stomps her foot and takes off running.

I am 100% sure that she is going to wait for me at the corner. I am wrong.

I can’t leave the twins to run after her; I have to call her bluff and wait for her to come back to me. She’s on the side of the block that has no driveways, so I can let her run and still know that she is safe.

I wheel the twins to the corner and stop, putting my hands on my hips. She is still running away. When she sees that I am following her, she turns to me, shakes her fists in the air (this was actually kind of funny) then turns and runs again.

I am 75% sure that she is going to wait for me at the next corner. I am wrong.

She runs to the end of the block. I am 50% certain that she will not try to cross the street by herself, which is to say that I have no idea what she’s going to do next.

I watch my daughter flaunt her independence in the big wide world of a single city block. From my vantage point, both literally and metaphorically, I can see the world beyond, the other blocks, other possibilities, other dangers. So this is parenthood—dancing the balance between keeping my daughter safe and letting her run free, even if it means she falls?

Before she gets to the end of the block, a neighbor stops her, and I get a chance to catch up. The neighbor and I talk. Chiara and I are separated by just enough bushes for her feel like she’s far away and for me to feel like she’s close.

And then it happens. The woman and her dog are coming back from their walk. The little dog has scampered ahead—very fast, and into the street. A car comes. The woman screams. There are a handful of witnesses in various stages of walking, jogging, and chasing children. We all freeze.

I try to anticipate what Chiara will see. Will the dog be thrown into the street? Will there be blood?

The car slams on its brakes and the little dog scuttles to safety. The woman runs after her dog. Chiara runs back to me, as fast as she can.

“Mama, Mama! I was so scared!”

“Me, too,” I tell her. We talk about what happened to the dog that ran away from his “Mama.” We talk about fear and trust and how next time the other “Mama” will probably put a leash on her dog. It reinforces for her how I would feel if she got hurt.

When she stomped and pouted around the block, several ideas had crossed my mind—from yelling at her to running after her to giving her the beating of a lifetime. I remind myself again and again— I know my neighborhood. It’s safe. I know my kid. She’s generally cautious. Running after her is not the way to teach her to stay close. Rationally, it was the right thing to do. And yet, it felt like an irresponsible gamble on my part.

In the end it worked out, my daughter challenged my authority and then saw firsthand the real reason you stay close to your Mama—because it’s safe.

Good thing, too. Because I don’t know what I would have done if I had gambled and lost.