In Stephen Spielberg's futuristic fairy film A.I. (Artificial Intelligence), "David," a highly-advanced robotic boy, wishes to become a real boy so he can win back the affection of the human mother, Monica, who abandoned him.
Like Pinocchio, David goes on a long journey hoping to find his "Blue Fairy," someone who can make his dreams come true. When he locates her, he sits patiently in an underwater hub for 2000 years waiting for the Blue Fairy to move, to nod her head, to give him a sign that all will be well. David exhibits dedication, true love, and most of all, patience.
I have become the combo version of the two females in the movie. My dog, an English bully pup named Dozer, is the canine version of David. I am his "mother." He is an only dog—and my first, after forty years of never having successfully gotten past six weeks of dog-rearing (that is another story). Dozer's number one goal in life is to love and be loved by me. In order to accomplish this goal, he waits for me—his very own Blue Fairy.
All that waiting gives me a guilty conscience, something I could not have fathomed a year ago. Sure, I used to feel bad about leaving my kids with the babysitter on a Saturday afternoon to get the gray in my hair dyed, but guilt over my dog? No way! Think again. As the children got older, the guilt lessened. As Dozer gets older, my guilt mammoths. My kids get excited now when I tell them their father and I have a "date."
The dog, on the other hand, slinks to his bed, hangs his head, and requires heavy doses of Kava-Kava.
In reality, that's why we dog guardians feel a constant pang of guilt. We are all the proverbial Blue Fairies, and we know our pups are doing what they do best: waiting—on us.
Think about it. On any given day, well, they simply wait. I mean, look at Dozer's schedule:
6:30 a.m.: Waiting for me to wake up.
6:45 a.m.: Waiting for me to let him out for a potty break.
7:00 a.m.: Waiting for me to exit the shower, get dressed, and dry my hair.
7:15 a.m.: Waiting for me to fill his food and water bowl.
7:20 a.m.: Waiting for me to put the baby gates up in the kitchen.
7:25 a.m.: Waiting in his bed in the kitchen until I say goodbye.
7:30 am - 4:45 pm: Waiting and waiting and waiting—for my return.
4:45 p.m.: Waiting to be let outside
5:00 p.m.: Waiting for me to feed him his dinner.
5:15-6:30 p.m.: Waiting for me to finish my dinner, so I'll consider giving him some scraps.
6:45 p.m.: Waiting to go out after dinner.
7:00 p.m.: Waiting to be played with.
7:30 p.m.: Waiting to be played with more.
8:00 p.m.: Waiting to be played with again.
8:30 p.m.: Waiting for a taste of my evening snack.
9:00 p.m.: Waiting to go out for a final potty break.
9:30 p.m.: Waiting for me to go to bed, so he can go to bed.
The weekend complicates matters even more. Saturday and Sunday can include, but are not limited to, waiting for a morning walk around the neighborhood, waiting to go to the puppy park, waiting for a trip to Pet Smart, waiting for the weekend grill-fest where good smells and fat scraps can be had, and finally, waiting (without glee) for the dreaded bath.
So they wait and they wait, and we should at least appreciate their patience.
Some are better at waiting than others, but we must ultimately remember that in the long run, they are dependent on us. They rely on us for food, water, love, and affection, visits to the vet and the park, and that blissful outside time.
Authentic dog guardinaship is a huge responsibility but one of the most rewarding. While we must wait almost thirty years for our children (who we birthed!) to acknowledge their gratitude to us for taking care of them—the food, the shelter, the everything—with our dogs, gratitude is instant and begins that very receiving-blanket minute.
One small scratch behind the ear, one tiny milk bone, one soft toss of a ball, one little "Atta boy" and loyalty is locked into place for eternity. Tail wags, feet licks, and that "I-Will-Love-You-Forever" look is enough to make it all worthwhile.
In fact, all that waiting is good for something. Know that Rover isn't just a blankly bored dummy. He's thinking about the future: the car ride to the Frisbee park, the Sunday afternoon walk, the Brushing-of-the-Dog ceremony after the (yikes) bath. Waiting does pay off.
Of course, we're nothing like the real Blue Fairy from A.I. We're not made of stone, heartless, non-responsive, frozen in time for two millenniums. We go to work each morning…and we worry (something I had no idea I would do—I mean, come on! Years ago I would have argued, "They're 'just' dogs!" Wrong!).
Worrying is a large part of the contemporary dog-owner's psyche and adds to our magazine-coined stress levels. In fact, on the anxiety slide scale, I place worrying about Dozer right below being fired from a job and above getting a divorce. We wonder if our doggies are depressed, we hope they're not too cold or hot, and we ask ourselves over and over if we remembered to fill the water bowl. When we get home in the evenings, we drop our keys and take care of their needs before ours. We squeal their names in unnatural octaves to get a rise out of them. We spend our last eight bucks on a nail trim for them rather than a manicure for ourselves. We delight in their delight.
So, hey, all you Blue Fairies out there, sit up and take notice! Don't make 'em wait 2,000 years (which, by the way, equals 14,000 years in dog life). When we go to sleep with their warm bodies at the foot of our beds, know that we are their happiness. We are their Blue Fairies come true. What an honor.
Editor's Note: Dr. Dana Thomas is Associate Dean of Liberal Arts, North Campus Florida Community College in Jacksonville, Florida. "Waiting for The Blue Fairy" is printed on FloridaPets.net with written permission from the author and is covered under normal copyright law.
