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The Newsletter >
The Alpha Mom
April 30, 2008
Attention Beta Mammals,
When Adam, our youngest, moved out, and my nest was
well and truly empty I said, “Don’t worry about me, buster,
I’ll be just fine. I’m getting a dog and naming it Adam.”
Well, I did and I didn’t. I got a dog. But I named
her Coco Chanel (like the French chick), and I fell in love
with her—the dog, not Coco Chanel. Although I do enjoy her
perfume.
My dog is part Golden Retriever, part Chocolate Lab,
part Australian Shepherd and part genius. She’s so smart
that if she had opposable thumbs she could drive my truck.
Her markings are very unusual and they make people stop,
stare, and say weird things like, “What kind of dog is
that? Is that a Malamute?” And I say, “Nope, she’s a
Mala-mutt.” I’m a smart-aleck that way.
The problem is that I picked Coco out of the litter
because of the way she looked. But in truth, I’ve had to
start watching that Dog Whisperer guy because of the way
she acts. She’s a pushy Mala-mutt bitch. Did I mention
smart? So smart, in fact, that there’s been a real battle
for leadership of our little pack. She’s bossy, mouthy,
fidgety, and hard-headed. Well, so am I, sister, so am I.
Being part retriever she feels the constant need to
bring me things: the channel changer, my new Michael Kors’
leather sandal, hoof clippings from the horses, Conner’s
ba-ba bottle, the next door neighbor’s dead duck
carcass—you know, things. Of course before she retrieves
these things completely, she chews them into complete
submission, and then she dumps the mangled mess in front of
me.
She has a big, scary bark and a deep desire to protect
me from cats, snakes, lizards, butterflies, crickets, moth,
and the next door neighbor’s ducks. She’s managed to pull
me off my feet only once, however. And in fairness, I was
wearing heels and the grass was slick.
Be it known that I have been doing my Dog Whisperer
homework. I own my space. I puff out my chest. I don’t
make eye contact. It’s done wonders with my husband,
Sherwood.
The dog seems to be getting the message too. When I
walk into the room Coco lowers her head in submission,
circles around me tentatively, and sniffs my crotch
politely. It’s official; I am the alpha female.
It makes me sad though, because I’m more than a little
tired of being the alpha female and having the pack depend
on me to find the tasty caribou carcass or decide whether
it’s going to be Chinese or pizza on “take-out” night.
Sigh. Well I have to be the pack leader, or I have to
watch everyone mill around in mindless, pointless circles
trying to figure out if we should choose the free liter of
Pepsi or the free egg rolls on an order that totals over
twenty bucks. Get the Pepsi, for goodness sake, nobody
eats the egg rolls except Adam, and Coco—of course.
Here’s to a week full of pack solidarity, calm
submission, and tasty caribou treats, and may your pack
live long and prosper.
Linda (Alpha Mom) Zern
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