“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” — Robert Frost (American poet, 1874-1963)

Perhaps Robert Frost didn’t have a dog. In that case, his 78 year old dad never said, “You’re welcome to come here, but not with a dog!”

My mom and dad don’t want to be burdened with a dog. I get that. But I have a dog, and I’m emotionally attached to her. My dad, who mostly is content if you stay out of line of his remote, decided, passive-aggressive-style, to “make a stand” about my dog. I’m already racked with guilt about showing up on their doorstep, Prodigal daughter-style, with a 17-foot truckload of all my possessions. Now I have to be guilty about showing up with a big giant smelly dog, too? WTF?

What I did, was mostly nothing. I groveled appropriately, expressed my gratitude, and showed up with the dog anyway. I did this knowing the most likely outcome, based on my 50-some plus years as Walter Aisbet’s daughter.

Five minutes in the door, my dad said, “Heyna, that’s a pretty good dog you got dere.” Pansy did her normal polite thing, I had her do her three tricks, and that was that. They love her, and she’s part of the family.

Whew.