Advertisement

Romano: Her kids, her dog — Mom spoiled us all just the same

 
Here's John Romano's mom, Anne, with his children Megan and Sean on Sean's ninth birthday. [Romano family photo]
Here's John Romano's mom, Anne, with his children Megan and Sean on Sean's ninth birthday. [Romano family photo]
Published May 10, 2015

So the dog is giving me a dirty look. Something between disappointment and disgust.

And what exactly is his problem? I wish I knew.

Perhaps I skimped on his share of my meatloaf. Or maybe I rushed his after-dinner walk. Or, as my wife often suggests, it could be he's just an #@$%!*&.

Not that I begrudge his bad attitude. He's a 50-pound lab mix who is pushing 17 years old. He's got lumps in all the wrong places, a face full of gray hair and a poodle's sense of entitlement.

His world was turned upside down five years ago when my mom needed to move out of her house and the assisted living facility invoked a No Grumpy Dog Clause.

So Dancer moved in with my family.

And he's been painstakingly training us ever since.

For instance, he stands in front of the cabinet where we keep his snacks and scratches the door until we give him something to eat. He's also too top-heavy to navigate the stairs by himself, so I have to carry him up to our bedroom and back down again. I do this repeatedly, and with great haste, lest he stand at the foot of the stairs barking at me.

All of which begs the question:

Why do we let him get away with this?

Well, he is almost 17. And age does have its privileges.

But, if I'm being honest, it's also because I know it's not his fault. He was a neurotic rescue pup when my sister found him at a shelter after my father passed away. And any fears or insecurities the dog had were soon smothered by my mother's fierce love.

She spoiled that dog like he was one of her children, and trust me when I say that is no small matter. Mom went about the business of spoiling loved ones with great dedication and gusto. It was as if her house was her job site, and her family precious clientele.

Do you remember June Cleaver, the do-it-all mother on Leave it to Beaver?

Slacker.

Mom was that good. That devoted. That kindhearted.

I had moved across the state and was living in my first apartment before I realized beds did not magically make themselves while you were in the shower.

So when I look at Dancer, I see the same spoiled kids we once were. In fact, it now makes complete sense that my dad used to refer to my brothers and me as #@$%!*&s, too. (We were numbered 1 through 3.)

We all took advantage of mom, the kids and dog alike. In her later years, when dementia was robbing her memory, Dancer used to pull the cabinet-scratching trick at her house, and mom never remembered she had already fed him several different meals that day. And when we kids would come to visit, we'd tell ourselves that we were making mom happy by allowing her to dote on us one more time.

It's been a long, long time since I lived under my mother's care. A long time since she blew her monthly allowance buying me Levis corduroys. A long time since she secretly made me my own special dinner because I didn't like family favorite pasta fagioli. A long time since she sat in her folding chair down the leftfield line for every baseball game I ever played.

Keep up with Tampa Bay’s top headlines

Keep up with Tampa Bay’s top headlines

Subscribe to our free DayStarter newsletter

We’ll deliver the latest news and information you need to know every morning.

You’re all signed up!

Want more of our free, weekly newsletters in your inbox? Let’s get started.

Explore all your options

She could be a fiery little thing. Headstrong and tough. She could lose her temper with the best of them, but she was always the first to cave and make things right with a hug.

Mom passed away last summer at the age of 88. I like to think there's a little bit of her in all of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I see it every time that damn dog barks at me.

Happy Mother's Day, mom.

From all your loving #@$%!*&s.