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It's Not So Ruff! Being Puppy-Girl's Daddy

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By MICHAEL WINTER

The Tampa Tribune

Published: October 26, 2008

My daughter is a puppy. A spotted puppy.

It's an important distinction. Her breed may be a mystery, but her markings have been mapped with a surveyor's precision. She has a black ring around her right eye, three spots on her rump, a spot on her left rear "paw" and a black-tipped tail.

I know this because she has, on numerous occasions, drawn her puppy self, and though the general shape may vary - sometimes her legs sprout directly from her head, sometimes from one end of a spudlike oval attached to her head - the spots are always in the same place.

Curious about her inspiration, I asked what she had based her design on. Like most artists, her response was less than revealing.

"Ruff!" she said, scooting around the coffee table on all fours.

"OK, Tess. It's time to be a little girl again."

"Ruff, ruff!" Around the table she went, pausing only long enough to sniff the chair and scratch a flea or two. That she could actually get her foot up to her ear will forever remain one of my dearest and most disturbing memories. Thankfully, she refrained from marking her territory, although she did rub her derriere against the recliner. Maybe she just had an itch.

The duration of this behavior can range anywhere from a few minutes to nearly an hour, during which time her dedication to remaining in character is absolute. Naturally, my tolerance for such antics is in direct proportion to the number of strangers gawking at her.

Two minutes of puppy-girl in the living room equates to a delightful display of imagination and childish exuberance. Two minutes of puppy-girl in the produce section of the supermarket equates to a feral child raised by the family dog because her father was too busy drinking homebrewed hooch and watching "Gomer Pyle" reruns to bother with her upbringing.

Sure, their mouths might say, "Oh, how cute!" but their eyes say, "You booze-addled, Super Glue-huffing, Doritos-scarffing excuse of a parent."

As if a cartful of tortilla chips is any indication of your level of competence as a father. Hey, there are tomatoes in the salsa, lady! Those are vegetables! Or are they fruit? Either way, they're good for you.

Anyway, the magical world of "pretend" has always been a double-edged sword when it comes to child-rearing. On the one hand, you don't want to discourage your child from expressing him- or herself in unique and individual ways. "Oh, look, Junior has tied a towel around his shoulders and is playing The Dastardly Doppelganger again."

On the other hand, a line must be drawn. "Oh, look, Junior has hogtied Grandma and left her to perish in the tool shed again."

So what, if any, parameters should parents use to help guide young pilots through their flights of fancy? Should youngsters be allowed to soar into the stratosphere of fantasy or be restricted to low-altitude sorties?

Like any proper flight plan that is contingent upon the whether, as in "the duration of your grounding depends on whether your eyebrows grow back, whether shoe polish comes out of upholstery, whether the plumber can retrieve my watch, etc., etc."

I've found the old Hippocratic standby "first, do no harm" a good rule of thumb for how tolerant a parent should be when it comes to pretend time. Anything that puts you or your child at risk is off limits, and by risk I mean physically (No, Susie, licking a power outlet will NOT turn you into the Pink Power Ranger!), mentally (You'll never convince me the Cookie Monster told you to saw the head off your brother's teddy bear and replace it with a snow globe!) or financially (Gluing DVDs to your mother's new blouse is an unacceptable way of making a robot costume!).

If a child's imagination violates none of these restrictions, I say let her be a spotted puppy - just keep her on a reasonably short leash. And don't fall for the old sleight-of-hand I call the "pretend postulate." It goes something like this:

"Why did you tell Grandpa he smelled like an old shoe?"

"I was just pretending."

"Pretending he smelled like an old shoe?"

"No, pretending I was a mean girl. Grandpa DOES smell like an old shoe."

"Go to your room."

As I've always said, imagination is no excuse for honesty.

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