On Sunday we took Wrigley to our church’s annual pet blessing. She drove Ben nuts with her pulling on the leash, endlessly sniffing and re-sniffing bottoms and barking as if she had the courage to actually follow it up with anything other than a whimper. Oh gig-gee.
This was one of the first words Leila said. She quickly attempted to mimic my clapping when I want Wrigley to come and even an occasional “bah” when Wrigley’s being too boisterous, but mainly she has loved squeezing and hugging on Wrigley. I can usually find her on Wrigley’s bed by the front window, reading or having a cup of tea, nestled next to her sleeping best friend. When I want to convince her it’s time to go home, I remind her that we’ll get to see Wrigley. Today, as I carried her barely awake self through the office she immediately started asking and looking for gig-gee.
I’ve struggled to treat Wrigley like the blessing she is to our family. We usually remember to walk her and feed her and let her out to pee, but she hasn’t received the unadulterated attention like she used to get before Leila arrived. She has never complained or begged or nudged her way in between, though I kind of wish she had. Last spring I read an article at the back of a magazine about a mom and her kids and her dog and her realizing her own neglect of the dog through the way her children treated the dog. This mom set out to spend 10 intentional minutes with her dog every day, and her kids took note and
she regained that bond. Thankfully Leila’s affection is still quite effusive, but the article convicted me.
I haven’t been great about ten full minutes or every day, but I’m starting to call Wrigley towards me more often just for a good pet or quick snuggle. At first she ignored me. Then she realized I wasn’t trying to brush her or bathe or get her to go in her room before we left. I was trying to pay attention. And that’s all it took. Gig-gee loves her some attention, and I love gig-gee.