An incident at home this weekend made me realize that Cesar is absolutely 100% correct! Our dog, Muffy, is truly a representation of both my children.
Muffy is a pure bred Beagle. She speeds around our front yard like Mario Andretti doing laps at the Indy 500. She stops only long enough to remind us she's there.
"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooo!" she barks in true hound-like fashion, then proceeds to do laps around our yard in the opposite direction. Her energy is limitless. She runs, she jumps, she barks, she gives you a kiss. Her exuberance is unmatched. She is without a doubt, a carbon copy of my son, Weston.
She is also however, like my youngest son, Nicholas.
Yesterday, I visited a local store in our area called Nason's. Nason's makes the most unbelievable and delicious chicken pies, baked beans and other homemade goodies. I wandered through the country shop and found myself pulled in the direction of a most wonderful smell. There, on a shelf, was a stack of warm, freshly baked cornbread, one of my husband's favorites. The powerful smell of corn and flour brought instant images to my mind of a thick slice of warm, golden cornbread smothered in melting butter.
Since Nicholas has been diagnosed with Prader Willi Syndrome, our house is always void of these kind of delicacies. I decided it was time for us to indulge and bought a loaf that felt like it weighed 5 pounds.
Once I got home I placed the loaf on the counter.
"Mummy, I need your help!" Nicholas shouts from upstairs. I go to attend to his bathroom crisis and later return to the kitchen.
I stop cold in my tracks, my mouth hangs open, I am horrified.... as there on the floor is my now decimated loaf of homemade goodness. Yes, Muffy had eaten through the plastic wrapping and proceeded to devour an entire loaf of cornbread. Five pounds of flour and sugar stuffed into the belly of a small, anxious hound. Strewn across my kitchen floor were millions of tiny bits of paper and the few remaining crumbs of my coveted cornbread.
Muffy was now feeling sick and hiding in her crate. My initial response to Muffy's bold charade was immediate anger. But as I looked inside her crate something diffused my rage. There under her blanket was a hidden "stash" of the last precious remnants of my cornbread. It was then that I realized, my exuberant, hyperactive dog, was also just like my child diagnosed with Prader Willi Syndrome. Her drive for food, her insatiable appetite, her ability to cleverly conceal food, was exactly like my son, Nicholas. And although Nicholas is not food-seeking yet, I realized, Muffy's pilferage of my forbidden treat may be preparing me for what is to come.
Cesar was right.
Like children, like dog.