The Bearded Lady

My daughter eats hair. Not just chews on it, she actually eats it, if you let her. As my 5-year-old would say, "What the--?!?" [Hey -- at least he doesn't finish the sentence any more.]

This morning as I was buckling her into her car seat for the trip to day care, Abby actually coughed up a furball. In this case, cat hair. She most often gets dog hair, though, because Bailey's (our Golden Retriever's) hair collects in great tumbleweeds and she crawls around stuffing them in her mouth faster than you (or I, at least) can move. I have taken to sweeping the floor twice a day, but it's going to have to be more -- or, we can shave the dog. That's okay with me, too.

In fact, I was beginning to think I'd actually become a "cat person," as my husband and some others have been accusing for 3 years now. I was walking the dog yesterday because D is out of town, and I was just grousing and grumbling and complaining under my breath -- something I'd never done through years of walking beloved dogs. I asked myself, "When did you become a cat person?" And I answered myself: "When I began to have responsibilities more important than a dog." (I know; witchy, right?) I harrumphed all the way home and refused to make eye contact with my hopeful, happy, bouncing dog when we got there. Then, late last night, when Abby threw up all over the room for no apparent reason, the dog managed to eat it off the floor before I could get the whole situation under control again. [Sorry, gross.]

But the real problem is not that I don't love the dog; it's that I do. I feel guilty about not spending enough time with her, about not giving her what she needs -- which is a lot; she is a Golden, after all. In fact, I never thought I'd meet a creature more needy than I, but she is it. I loved throwing the ball for her out back, until she scared the daylights out of our neighbor. I loved letting her sleep in our room when Dave was out of town, until I became so sleep-deprived that I was only disturbed, not comforted, by the sounds of her twitchy, snorey sleep. I didn't mind opening the door and letting her go outside to do her business a few times a day, until she ruined the grass and upset D. So now I love her, but I don't love anything about her. Still, she is us. She is part of our family, and you can't just rid yourself of that. As with so many things, I need to change the way I think about my relationship with the dog. I will think on it. I have so much trouble with people or creatures who can't talk!!!

As for how to get the kid to stop eating hair? I mean, when possible, she grabs big handsful of my long, brown hair, stuffs it in her mouth, and chews. I am full of questions. How? Why? To give her something to chew? Maybe she likes "product". Does the dog hair taste as bad as the dog smells? Is there some bizarre nutrient she is lacking, or some hormonal disorder, as with those pregnant women who start eating dirt? I have no idea. Of course, D and I have been unable to ignore the fact that when Abby comes crawling or toddling around the corner with a gob of blonde dog fur sticking part way out of her mouth, she looks like a little old lady with a grey beard. That's pretty funny.

One more thing, off topic. I saw a sign at a Palin rally in the paper: "Dudes Love Gals Who Love Guns". I can't deny that's often true. My husband is not one of those dudes, however. Which is ironic, because I am an expert shot and could out-shoot Palin any day of the week. Well, with an actual weapon that shoots bullets. I have never shot a pink-camouflage crossbow.