Walking the Dog

I just sent my son out the door on his first ever attempt at walking our dog.

He looked nervous.

I’m petrified.

He’s trying to train for the 10K that’s happening here in Richmond in early April. He’s been trying to do three miles per day. He’s been failing, regularly.

He thought that maybe with the dog he’d have some incentive.

See, the dog’s a pit mix I got from the pound ten years ago. She’s an aging pit mix with a sweet disposition, but if you’re a cat, rabbitt, or squirrel, you’re lunch and that’s all there is to say about it.

My 11 (almost 12) son could not possibly hold this dog away from chosen prey. Likely my son will be bloodied by the road while she runs.

I’m staring at the door.

He’s not back yet.

I am the worst mother that ever was. Truly. What kind of mother would look at this boy and his intentions, and say, “OK, just stay in sight of the house”? He’s road pizza. It’s pitch black night outside. This dog has taken him for a run, and now I have to feel guilty about both of them.

Motherhood sucks.

Where is he, Godd*mnit!?

Still not back….

He was at his chess club this afternoon (yes, that’s how nerdy we are. Eldest Son is vying for first place in the chess club. In sixth grade. So sue me.) and he told me again that he wanted to run the 10K but he wasn’t sure he had the wind.

So I let him go.

I’m still staring at the door….

…..

…..

He’s home!

I’m weeping at his feet (figuratively). (And litelerally.)

He says, “You promised me two dollars for walking the dog? And…

…now I have to play the end game for his tournament tomorrow.

I suck at chess, but now he feels entitled to my end game.

Did I mention that motherhood sucks?

**I  beat my son two games out of three at chess. He’s now more angry at me than he’s ever been. I put him in mate when he had two knights to my six pawns.  And then he walked the dog. His hatred for me is red hot.