I was a very sensitive kid. So much, in fact, that my mother only got through “Rock a Bye Baby” one time because I cried so hard at the idea of “down will come baby cradle and all.” What a mean lullaby. I couldn’t watch Road Runner cartoons because I was so sympathetic to the coyote- he wasn’t evil, he was just a carnivore. He just wanted to eat. And Tom and Jerry? Awful. Poor Tom. I’d cry every time I had to watch him get disemboweled, electrocuted, or decapitated. Man, that was a sadistic cartoon.
It seems that my daughter is following in my footsteps. One morning while I was at the gym, my husband turned on the TV to a station unknown and went back to bed. When I came home, my daughter was bawling her eyes out because she was watching a cartoon about either a puppy mill or a lost dog or something involving dogs and animal catchers, and she was inconsolable. When Mulan died, my son was philosophical. He said, “OK,” and went to play with his trucks. My daughter, on the other hand, still talks about her. Empathetic child.
When I found out about Emmett, my first thought was, “#@$@%!@#@#%@#”. Then, it was “How am I going to explain this to my daughter?” I figure, at least I have some time to figure it out, because I still don’t know the answer to that.
Tonight, she started crying shortly after I put her to bed. “I had a dream about a doggie who lost his family,” she sobbed. Apparently she saw something on TV this afternoon- this time Grandma was the culprit- and it again made her sad, musing about pets and loss. “Don’t worry,” I said, “Emmett won’t lose us,” then paused without saying, but we are going to lose him.
She looked at me and sighed. “But we already lost two dogs this year,” saying what I was thinking. “Skippy went to live with Maria, and Mulan…..Mulan…..”
I had no response to that. I gave her a hug, tried to distract her, and then went downstairs to give Emmett his meds.