Whatever, I am about to talk way too much about dogs and how it made me think about donor eggs all night long. I expect about 75% of you may want to exit at this point. The ones who remain might only want to play the Name that Breed game.
You know the little man in my life, Huck.
He is a rescue dog who never takes a good photo since the camera sound indicating the image is in focus sounds a lot like his electric fence warning.
Huck is My Baby Before the Baby. Yes, I loved on my dogs with obscene levels of care, but my guess is if you are still reading at this point, you are merely nodding your head. There is no love like the love of a good dog.
We don't know much about Huck. The vet gave us an estimate on his age and that is about it. We often played the What the Heck is Huck game. We settled on Pointer mix. For Rocco's birthday this year I submitted Huck's DNA to see if we could identify any major breeds in him.
Now do you see where this long winded story is going?
I cannot stop staring at my dog and thinking about his real origins.
What does that mean. Real origins.
Is he any different now that I know his roots? His genetic ancestry? I kept thinking about when my child will study those topics in grade school. I remember drawing a family tree. Will my child struggle with his or hers?
Lately I have been sitting all smug in my donor egg loving fog, but damn, what about the child.
What in the hell does this have to do with the fact that Huck is one quarter Basset Hound. Hell if I know. I just catch myself staring at him, thinking how he looks nothing like a Cardigan Welsh Corgi... worrying about my child accepting similar ideas.