Monday, November 2, 2009

Day of the Dog

Over the weekend, the Universe handed the Matron yet another lesson: Halloween is really Day of the Dog.

What's not to like, from the canine perspective? There's that doorbell, ringing and ringing and ringing and all those people to bark at!

Even better: there is candy.

If you have 6 and 13 year old boys, they will leave their bags of candy laying around on couches, chairs, and the floor without a second thought. They will pick up a Snickers bar, take a bite and put the bar down, distracted, and walk away. The boys will dump out half a bag of candy to examine the booty and then realize that Malcolm in the Middle is playing on the TV upstairs. They will go up, leaving the candy behind. The 11 year old girl will keep her candy hidden in a secret locale, safely far away both brothers and the dog, and she will also be very aware of the fact that other people's candy is being left out, carelessly, but hers is not.

Because she is female.

Herein lies the secret to the cultural mythology about a boy and his dog. Dogs like boys because boys aren't girls. Boys leave candy on the floor. Girls don't. If you are a dog, this is enough for you.

Now the Matron has a P H D in English Literature and Feminist Studies. She knows she is breaking every rule in the book here. She doesn't care. Hear it again: boys leave candy laying around and girls do not and this is why dogs love boys. There! Essentialism 101!

The weary Matron feels that she has earned the right to stereotype and malign small children. Because if you clean up 100 million tons of dog vomit in one day, why, you have lost a wee bit of your brain in the process.

That's right. Satan's Familiar ate the Halloween candy-- at least one pillowcase FULL of sour and chocolate delight.

Unfortunately he's currently recovering on the bed that Scarlett made for him, complete with pillow, blanket and handy bedside water bowl. Note: the GIRL made the bed. Was in charge of convalescence. Was NOT the cause of problem in the first place.

And tomorrow, that damn dog will return to his position by Merrick's side, waiting for that hot dog to drop.


abrown said...

I sent you this once before, but I thought I'd try one more time before giving up.

I'm interested in printing an excerpt from one of your posts in the Pioneer Press. If you are interested, please contact me as soon as possible.

You can reach me at


Minnesota Matron said...

Fame! The Matron just sent an email.

~annie said...

So, are you telling me that I am actually raising a BOY at my house?

That would explain a lot of things around here...

Minnesota Matron said...

Too funny! You'll never find me missing my chocolate, either :-)

Cheri @ Blog This Mom! said...

This post is going to Five Star Friday right away. This is clever stuff, Mary.

Also? I'm afraid that I relate to Satan's Familiar. I would eat the whole pillowcase full, too, if I could just find where Laura hid it.

Green Girl in Wisconsin said...

Which is why I am glad we have a CAT!

Heather said...

Ha ha! No dogs here but I suspect you'd be right about this. Although my son is terrified of dogs and my daughter loves them. That probably would clinch it that the dog would love my son then.

Susan said...

Feminism must take into account universal truths.

Suburban Correspondent said...

I'm sitting here wondering what Pioneer Press is. And enjoying your post, of course...

Daisy said...

Believe it or not - we had a rabbit that picked up candy and ate it. He preferred dumdum suckers. No comments from the peanut gallery, please.

Maureen@IslandRoar said...

Having 1 son, 22, and 2 daughters, 18 and 15, AND being terribly enlightened, I have to say that you are absolutely correct. Not that the boy would've loved his candy any Less; he just couldn't be bothered remembering to protect it.
Then he would've pet the sick dog and let it lie anywhere. The daughters would've built a veterinary hospital, gotten out stethescopes,and palpated her abdomen before tucking her into an elaborate bed.
Just like the boy bent Barbie in half, at age 3, and used her as a gun.