“Mouse is a cat,” Mallory said this morning on the drive to school, referring to Mouse the dog. (Confused yet?)
“How so?” I asked.
“She likes to jump up on tables, like cats do.”
“But Mallory, she can’t be a cat,” Phoebe said. “Her parents were both dogs, so she has to be a dog too.”
“I know she’s not really a cat,” Mallory said, “but she acts like a cat.” Then she asked: “When did Mouse’s mom and dad get married?”
“They’re not married, honey,” I said, “they’re dogs.”
“Yeah, but don’t you have to be married to have a baby?”
“Well, people do,” I said [not adding: in most cases]. “But dogs don’t get married.”
“Then how does the mommy dog get pregnant?”
“Well, they mate,” I said.
“Ewwww!” the girls shrieked in unison.
“It’s what has to happen,” I said.
“Gross,” Mallory said. Then: “Where did they go?”
“Pardon?” I said.
“Where did they go, on their date?”
“I didn’t know dogs could go on dates,” Phoebe added.
“No, not date. They don’t go on a date, they mate.”
“But what does that—“ Mallory began.
“Oops, here we are!” I interrupted, zooming into the carpool line, and then I started babbling unnecessarily about finding backpacks and lunch boxes and having a nice day. A cowardly move, I know. But who wants to talk about the birds and the bees and the puppies too, first thing in the morning?
“How so?” I asked.
“She likes to jump up on tables, like cats do.”
“But Mallory, she can’t be a cat,” Phoebe said. “Her parents were both dogs, so she has to be a dog too.”
“I know she’s not really a cat,” Mallory said, “but she acts like a cat.” Then she asked: “When did Mouse’s mom and dad get married?”
“They’re not married, honey,” I said, “they’re dogs.”
“Yeah, but don’t you have to be married to have a baby?”
“Well, people do,” I said [not adding: in most cases]. “But dogs don’t get married.”
“Then how does the mommy dog get pregnant?”
“Well, they mate,” I said.
“Ewwww!” the girls shrieked in unison.
“It’s what has to happen,” I said.
“Gross,” Mallory said. Then: “Where did they go?”
“Pardon?” I said.
“Where did they go, on their date?”
“I didn’t know dogs could go on dates,” Phoebe added.
“No, not date. They don’t go on a date, they mate.”
“But what does that—“ Mallory began.
“Oops, here we are!” I interrupted, zooming into the carpool line, and then I started babbling unnecessarily about finding backpacks and lunch boxes and having a nice day. A cowardly move, I know. But who wants to talk about the birds and the bees and the puppies too, first thing in the morning?
Comments
Good move, stalling like that. I would have done the same.
Dating dogs. I would like to see that.