So, my kid was eating dog food, and...

I was all like, "Oh crap, this backfired. Now what?"

I'm not entirely certain when the puppy game became such a ubiquitous part of our household. I know it started with our homeschool group; for a while, the kids would spend hours engrossed in a game they called "Baby Dog," in which they pretended to be... wait for it, there's a twist... baby dogs. (I lied about the twist. Guess there's no real way to dress up kids pretending to be dogs.)

At some point, Aidan started pretending to be a puppy. And, come on, we all know that a wee little guy crawling about, licking things and barking, is pretty darned cute. So Aidan would be on the floor, yipping at everyone's heels, and said everyone would lean over and say things like, "Oh, look! Isn't that adorable? He's pretending to be a puppy! C'mere puppy, I'll pet you!"

Cue older sibling envy.

Something else we all know is that an almost-six year old crawling around, licking things and barking, is not so much of the cute. But almost-six year old girls (especially those in the process of weaning off of their anticonvulsant medication) are also emotionally volatile and vulnerable creatures. We want to be careful about their feeeeelinnnnngs and self-esteem and ego or some such new-agey twaddle. So Nick and I have been going with the puppy thing, calling her over, petting her and otherwise acting like buffoons and hoping it would just be a quick phase, like wearing flip-flops or the day she liked broccoli.

Several weeks later, we're still dealing with the puppy (whose name, by the way, is Lilly). After Nick got stuck bringing Lilly the puppy with him to the store this afternoon, I decided to enthusiastically embrace Isabel's puppyhood. I like dogs, after all. We have a dog already, what's one more?

While Lilly the puppy romped at my feet, I retrieved dishes, filled one with water, and placed them both on the floor. Now, I'll be honest and say that I wasn't going to go totally method with this thing. My plan was to put chicken nuggets in the food dish. But Lilly - who, it should be noted, can talk (a la PBS's Martha Speaks) - insisted upon dog food. I started to protest and then thought, why? This will surely burn her out!

I poured the food.

She took a bite.

And another bite.

And another.

"How's your food, Lilly?" I asked.

"Ruff! Yum-my! Arf arf arf!" Chew, chew, chew. Another bite. Chew, chew, chew. "Yip! Mm-mm-good! Ruff!"

So there I was. On Mother's Day. Standing in the kitchen while my five year old crouched at my feet and ate a bowl of dog food off the floor. Yay me.

Chicken nuggets didn't change her mind. Being shut in the kitchen while Nick, Aidan and I ate at the table didn't change her mind. The prospect of sleeping on the floor didn't change her mind.

Aidan toddled over to the gate at one point, and Lilly growled rather convincingly at him. She barked and rolled. And I watched all of this, mentally writing the acceptance speech for my Worst Mother Of The Year award and wondering if blogging about it would result in CPS banging down my door. (I really freaking hope not.)

Dessert. Dessert is what did the child in. A big bag of candy mints, not suitable for doggie consumption. "Oh, I'm not a puppy anymore," she said matter-of-factly, like we were the ones who had strange ideas.

I'm so glad we had those mints in the house. I really didn't want to have to take her outside to go pee.