For those of you who haven't met this little guy, this is Jared's transitional object, One Doggie. Yup, that's what he named him. He goes everywhere with us. To the market, to Target, on trips. We have several pictures of One Doggie doing stuff, because Jared wants us to take a picture of him like he's a sibling or something. Last time was on a merry-go-round. Jared sat on one horse, and One Doggie got strapped onto another, and a picture was taken. He eats with One Doggie. One Doggie gets pushed in the swing at the park. One Doggie plays legos. One Doggie goes to preschool and My Gym. One Doggie goes out to eat with us. He even has his own seat in the car. And of course, One Doggie goes to sleep with him every night. He's cried in the middle of the night, "I can't find One Doggie"... "I lost One Doggie" and then I have to stumble in, feel around the crib in the dark, and securely put him next to him and then we can all go back to sleep. I have to sneak it away from him to throw it in the washing machine when it's all grimy, otherwise he will cry because literally, they would be separated for too long.
My friend Kasi's kid, Sinjin, has a similar looking dog, Barkley. Sinjin's stuck to Barkley as much as Jared is stuck to One Doggie. We've often talked about the tragedy that would ensue if the dog got lost. Oh my God. What would we do? I always joke that I should have a backup hidden in the house just in case. Kasi says, "You think I'm joking? I already have one. I might even get another one." We have had several close calls, Paul & I whispering to each other, "Do you have One Doggie?" "Is he in your bag?" "Is he in the car?" then frantic searching while trying not to arouse any suspicion from the boy, locating the dog and then shouting, "I'VE FOUND HIM!" like we tracked down an abducted child. We both give a sigh of relief and chuckle a little saying, "What if we had lost him?" Finally, last week, I told Paul, "I found One Doggie on Amazon. Maybe I should order it as a backup." It's $16.00. So, I hemmed and hawed. Will we need it? I finally ordered it on Thursday. It'll be here on Monday. Great!
Today the company that I work for provided a luncheon for employees and their spouses. The owners have a grandson same age as Jared and another grandson who is 10 mos old. Jared shows people One Doggie. "Oh isn't that cute? Is that like his security blanket?" Throughout lunch, Jared is fussy because we skipped the nap (which in hindsight was not a good idea), so Paul kept taking him outside to walk around and occupy him. After lunch, I get all my stuff ready. Diaper bag? Check. Camera? Check. Inhaler? Check (he has a cold right now). Ok. I go outside to find Paul & Jared. Paul says, "Do you have One Doggie?" I check the bag. "No," I reply. I'm still calm. "You don't have him?" "No." Anxiety builds. I put the bag down and say, "I'm going back inside." I go back to my table. I look on the table. Under the table. On the chairs. Under the chairs. Shit. No One Doggie. I go back outside. "Are you sure you don't have him?", I say to Paul in a low voice. "No. I left him on the camera so we wouldn't lose him outside." We look through the diaper bag five times. Paul goes back into the restaurant to look. It takes forever. I'm trying to distract Jared. He doesn't know that One Doggie is MIA yet. Paul comes back out empty handed. We switch again. He stays with Jared and I go back into the restaurant. I'm crawling under the table. I'm going under other people's tables in case it got kicked. I even get desperate enough to start looking in places you logically know it cannot be. I'm looking in the bathroom. I'm looking EVERYWHERE. By this time, all of my co-workers know about the disappearance of One Doggie. The owners sympathize, since they have the grandsons. Everyone's looking. I can't believe it. Where the hell is One Doggie?
I go back outside and Paul walks the perimeter three times looking for him, because you know, even though One Doggie was never outside, it may have magically flown outside. I take Jared inside with me because I have to go pee. As soon as we walk in, my co-workers are asking repeatedly, "Did you find the dog?" Jared looks confused. I try to keep calm and play it down so he doesn't get upset. But then he catches on. "My Doggie disappeared?"
We leave our phone number with the restaurant. The owner says there's a Toys R Us 5 minutes away. Best thing we can do is try to get a replacement. Damn it. We're screwed. Why didn't I order the backup one day earlier so it would have been at the house yesterday? How is he going to sleep? How long will he be upset about this? We put Jared in the car seat. He's crying now. "My Doggie disappeared." We decide outside of the car that we'll go to Porter Ranch. I'll go to Toys R Us with Jared and Paul will go to Wal-Mart to try to find a replacement. Let's go!
This is the part that kills me. We take the street up to Toys R Us. The crying turns into sobbing. "My Doggie disappeared!" Over and over again. Then, his little face goes into his hands, and he's sobbing, snot all over his face, body shaking, saying, "I lost my best friend!" Over and over again. At this point, I can't stand it. I keep saying I'm sorry, I know it's terrible. Then I start crying because he keeps saying, "I lost my best friend." For those of you who know me, I don't cry. But I was crying. Paul's getting upset. We can't seem to get to Toys R Us fast enough. He's yelling at people on the road. He's about to cry. He's convinced that another kid in the restaurant swiped One Doggie. "Who would do such a thing to a little kid?" he's shouting.
We get to Toys R Us, and Jared's still crying, but then gets distracted by the toys. We go see the stuffed animals. No exact replica of One Doggie, but I finally find one in a similiar size and color. I hold it out to him, "This one is cute!" He looks at it sadly and says, "That's not One Doggie." We go through every dog they have. Finally, he sighs and points to the original one, and says, "That's fine." "Great!" I cheerfully say, "Let's go look at the Thomas stuff!" I feel so bad for the kid, I'm offering to buy him everything in the store. I call Paul and he's at Wal-Mart. I told him we found a good-enough substitute until the backup arrives on Monday. Then he says frantically, "I'll call you back. I have another call." Click.
He calls back in two minutes, "IT'S THE RESTAURANT. THEY FOUND HIM!! THEY FOUND HIM!! You wait there, I'll go pick up One Doggie, and meet you at Toys R Us." WHAT RELIEF. I almost want to cry again.
Paul finds us in Toys R Us and he's holding One Doggie, pasta sauce smeared on one ear. Jared stares at it from a distance. Paul says, "I found One Doggie. He was still eating his pasta at the restaurant!"
End scene, right? No. Jared grabs One Doggie. He holds him tight and starts crying about the reunion. The lower lip turns down. It starts to tremble. Eyes get watery. Then heavy crying.
End scene, right? No. He seems okay now. We get into the car. He's holding onto One Doggie. Then he starts to remember again and starts sobbing again. "I don't want One Doggie to disappear ever again." I start crying again.
We don't know where One Doggie was during those frantic 40 minutes. The restaurant didn't explain, and really, in the end, it doesn't matter because we got the dog back, but it was the most heart-wrenching 40 minutes of parenthood.
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