My daughter woke up this morning full of righteous indignation. Upon seeing the dog, still in his post-surgical cone, she proclaimed:
"You said it would be off today!"
It's 7:15. Did she think it would evaporate over night? Dissolving over time like the stitches? Maybe she thought some pet version of the Tooth Fairy might come along in the night to help. Even if it required human intervention, clearly it should be the first thing I attended to in the morning. What could possibly take precedence over relieving the poor, sweet dog of the shame of the cone-head appliance? What kind of parent allows this to go on?
Me: I said it could come off sometime today.
(This is not really true. The sometime was implied, but never spoken.)
Me again: I can't leave him home alone all day without the cone. He'd probably scratch something and bleed all over the place. You and Daddy can take it off him when you get home this afternoon.
Clearly she was not satisfied with this answer. I have broken a deal with the dog, and I won't be easily forgiven by the child. Don't mind that the dog never shows her any sort of appreciation. He won't obey her when she gives him a command. He doesn't come when she calls, unless she's calling "cookie." He won't play with her. Hannah really wants Bear to be her dog, but he's not on board with that yet.
This doesn't matter to Hannah. She's in the business of ensuring liberty from cones, and justice for all, and doesn't require any kind of expression of gratitude. Either that or she enjoys busting my chops about anything she can find. It's hard to tell with little girls.