There are certain phrases that, before you have kids, you can’t imagine you’ll ever say, like “Stop goosing your sister,” or “We don’t flush underpants down the toilet.”
“Don’t French the dog” is one of them.
Lately, whenever the room goes eerily silent, it’s because our son is making out with the dog. I’ll find him crouched down by Piper, mouth open and tongue out, soliciting slobbery kisses.
Their puppy love began several weeks ago, after Bennett had warmed up to our family’s newest member. He discovered that she liked to lick things — hands, fingers, feet, his neck; it was all fair game. It soon progressed to Piper licking Bennett’s face; specifically, his lips. And, just like two teenagers caught in the act by disapproving parents, the more we yelled, “Ewww, gross! Bennett! Don’t kiss her like that!” or “No, Piper! Stop it!” the more they tried to do it, to spite us.
Conversations between Blake and me about this particular topic now go something like this:
Me: “I can’t believe Bennett has gone to second base with the dog.”
Blake: “I thought second base was feeling boobies.”
Me: “Oh yeah, you’re right. Well, he has touched her nipples when he rubs her belly.”
Blake: “And nipples are like the gateway to third base.”
We all know what base comes last, so let’s not even go there.
When we got a dog I knew we’d have to police her around furniture and shoes to prevent her from chewing them. I knew we’d have to make sure Bennett didn’t pet Piper too roughly, or pick her up by the neck. I did not foresee PDA patrol between human and canine.
I’m sure Bennett will eventually tire of trying to play kiss tag with his new best friend. My only hope in the meantime is that he doesn’t get worms.