My mother, my dog

They say that gay men become their mothers as they age. That's something for Clay to worry about, I guess, but what I have noticed is that my dog, Gypsy, is turning into my mother. Or maybe it's the other way around. The disturbing psychological implications notwithstanding, the similarities are striking and undeniable. And it's not an insult to either of them, quite the opposite I think.

Gypsy has always been the alpha female around here and very much in charge of the household and its inhabitants. My mother is, well, my mother. Power abhors a vacuum and she has generally stepped up to take charge of situations and organizations that need it.

Gypsy is not overly maternal or nurturing, but those are not the first words that most people would use to describe my mother either. They are both very much in charge, on top of things in their world, and fiercely protective of people and matters within their sphere of influence.  That is, I submit, the true essence of what it means to be maternal anyway, not baking cookies. 

Gypsy and my mother both have very firm, steadfast, and dare I say, even somewhat rigid ideas of what is right, who needs to do what, and what needs to happen when. These are traits that could make them both incorrigible, but both have funneled them into good, constructive uses. Over the years, my mother's organizational skills have benefited many political candidates, all Democrats of course, and countless civic organizations in Salina, KS. Fighting the good fight in a red state is never easy, but an easy fight isn't much of a challenge. Victories may be small, and sometimes few and far between, but they are all that much sweeter for it.

Gypsy came to us at about a year of age and took a while to bond with me because she had never really had a bond with a human and didn't know what that was all about. She figured it out and has been my companion, ally, and champion ever since.

Gypsy figured out this fostering business long ago. She knows who the fosters are, where they belong, and what they are supposed to do. She may not approve of them, but she watches them. She watches everything. She sleeps where she can see anything that happens and she gets up whenever I come into the room so she's ready to do whatever needs to be done. 

Clay always suggests that Gypsy would prefer I take up scrapbooking as a hobby rather than dog rescue, but she knows that's not likely to happen. My mother probably wishes I'd do a few things differently too, but they are nonetheless my two most stalwart and unwavering supporters.