February 09, 2010
 
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| Time for Pre-Canine Counseling |
| by John Zmirak |
| 1/06/09 |
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My girlfriend and I are getting serious. We've been involved, on and off, at long and short distances, for several years and have begun to feel the tug of the inevitable -- the beckoning warmth of a common hearth, the prospect of bearing each other's burdens as helpmates, of building up together our own Domestic Church. (This edifice, as married folks tell me, is chiefly devoted to kitchen, restrooms, and confessionals.) Indeed, we already have a family in common -- two wonderful little beagles named Susie and Franz Josef, of whom we have joint custody, and whom we call "the babies."
With every relationship that inches toward the sacramental, it's critical that the two parties establish common ground on the central issues that arise in any marriage. We've spent the past few years hashing out healthy compromises on most of the subjects over which we'd disagreed. (Okay, which frightened her.) In consultation with each of our spiritual directors, we have established at last that I'll no longer:
On the positive side, my lady-friend has no problem with my policy that any and all dogs we acquire will sleep in the family bed. And in return for all these binding resolutions, she undertakes not to keep bringing up past instances of any and all occurrences of the aforementioned phenomena. So now I think we're golden.
Aware that more marriages founder on financial rather than sexual disagreements, we spent a lot of time talking through our different monetary habits and expectations -- most of which we'd inherited. She hails from prosperous, skinflint German surgeons and Southern aristocrats; my family tree is full of Irish cabbies who knew it was time to go home when they fell off the barstool, and Slavs who took ship to America one step ahead of the hangman. Her parents repair old flip-flops with Gorilla Glue; mine piled up debt to finance tacky weddings. And so on. We've worked through all this, and come to an arrangement: I'll earn the money, and she'll refuse to spend it.
We've agreed on the kind of neighborhoods where we would be willing to live, what priorities we have about choosing a home -- counterbalancing my interest in gargoyles and the proximity of a Latin Mass with hers in "a foundation that isn't cracked and pipes that actually work." Which is probably prudent, since I'm one of those New Yorkers who deals with a burnt-out light bulb by calling the super.
We've agreed to be open to life. We have two beagles together already, and will prayerfully welcome any other hounds whom God sees fit to send our way.
That leaves just the issue of progeny. We're neither of us young, and we're both pretty high-strung. A houseful of homeschooled Patricks and Philomenas is biologically unlikely -- and would anyway land one or both of us in the sanatorium, and the kids in foster care. On the other hand, the Church teaches that child-rearing is the primary purpose of marriage. (All that love and companionship is crucial for happiness, but it's icing. The kids are the cake.) What is more, we have private reasons for wanting a decent-sized family. My beloved finds children as cute and funny as puppies, while I feel responsible for spreading my genes around the planet -- if only as a form of posthumous sabotage.
Most importantly, though -- and I hope that some of you will take these considerations into account -- we've decided that having some children would be very good for our beagles. Veterinary psychologists have established the character-building benefits that children can bring to family pets. For instance:
We've heard the Malthusian arguments against bringing more human children into the world. We've worried together over the environmental, political, and economic situation our offspring might inherit. I have even noted with alarm the research that shows the common thread linking Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, Margaret Sanger, and Adam Sandler: Each was at some point a child.
But we can't dwell on dark thoughts like that. They are not of God. We're commanded by Christ to live in hope, in the hope that a loving Father will provide for our children and beagles a livable world -- or at least a really smokin' and satisfying Apocalypse. As the song says, "Be Not Afraid."
John Zmirakis author, most recently, of the graphic novel The Grand Inquisitor and is Writer-in-Residence at Thomas More College in New Hampshire. He writes weekly for InsideCatholic.com. Readers have left 8 comments. I had to read this in 2 sittings since I was laughing too hard to continue at first. Well done, Mr. Zmirak. You have exceeded your usual high level of comedy. You must keep your girlfriend in stitches! Written by Erin in Texas You are hilarious and a psycho (that's a compliment). By the way, if your dogs have what we call the Hoover Factor like our beagle mix does, you'll never have to vaccum under that high chair. Written by meg I feel responsible for spreading my genes around the planet -- if only as a form of posthumous sabotage. — ZmirakI will now view my own children in exactly the same way. MWAHAHAHA! Written by Andy Mozeltof on the upcoming nuptuals! One word of advice... Never ever put a TV in the bedroom. It exudes bad joojoo. Other than that, you're golden. Written by Teri Two years of marriage inform my one suggestion: get it in writing. Written by John I have been happily married for over 34 years and my children never gave me 15 minutes of difficulty. Don't ask. I have no damn idea. No TV in the bedroom, stay away from divorced friends who want you to be as miserable as they are, and don't go off on any crusades and you'll be okay. Written by dymphna It's good you are into owning multiple dogs. That means I don't have to own any.  Written by Pauli |
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