I have a lump in my throat – the kind that grows large when you’re holding back tears, when you know everything is okay, but still, your emotions get the best of you.

I used to get this feeling when I dropped off my now eight-year-old at daycare, back when she was two-years-old. On good days, she cried when I turned her over to her teachers. On bad days, she threw tantrums. I would kiss her, tell her I loved her, and leave. Then, as I’d drive to work, that familiar lump would form; my eyes would burn, but I didn’t cry.

You see, I knew my daughter was in good hands. I also knew – because her teachers told me repeatedly – that as soon as I was out the door, the crying ceased. Indeed, at day’s end, I always picked up a smiling, happy child.

With Galen, it’s different.

I dropped Galen at my mother’s house this morning, because my family is going away for the weekend. Galen loves my mother and loves swimming in her pool. But she doesn’t love being away from her family, and she’s not so enamored with my mom’s dog, Loki, who overwhelms her with his energy.

Today, Loki swatted Galen across the head with his right paw, before she crossed the threshold into the house. He was ready to play; she was not. She cowered, tail between her legs, right cheek brushing the welcome mat.

I stayed for just a few minutes, talking with my mom. Galen didn’t leave my side. She pawed my leg with her sharp little nails and gazed at me with her big brown eyes. “Please don’t leave me here,” they pleaded.

My mom is running a boarding house this weekend. In addition to Galen, she’s watching my sister’s dog, Bear; he’s there when we arrive. Bear is a thirteen-year-old black Lab, who lives his life like that tortoise from the classic children’s tale, The Tortoise and the Hare. Bear is a “slow and steady wins the race” kind of guy, which, despite the decade-large age gap between him and Galen, endears him to her. Galen’s tail wags when she sees Bear.

In the kitchen, I patted Galen’s head and gave her a kiss. I told her I loved her, walked out the door, got in my car. I’ll call my mother in a few hours to check on my little girl. But if the past is prologue, that lump will remain lodged in my throat until Monday, when I see Galen again.

My canine daughter is not as resilient as my human one.

Galen will likely spend her weekend hiding under the coffee table in my mother’s living room – I think she believes Loki doesn’t see her there. Perhaps Bear will lure her out, perhaps my mother will.

As for me, I will have a wonderful weekend with my family, but it will be tinged with the sadness of knowing that Galen isn’t happy, despite being well cared for (read: spoiled) by my mother.

It’s been said, “A mother is only as happy as her saddest child.” I don’t know who said it first, but I would like to believe she was including her canine kids in that sentiment.

Galen loves daycare. In fact, most mornings she stalks Kevin as he dresses, hoping he’ll take her there on his way to work. She doesn’t always get her wish. Good daycare – for dogs, as for children – isn’t cheap.

But this morning, Galen was in luck.

Kevin called me after dropping her off. “Let me tell you about our diva dog,” he said.

Apparently, Jen, who works the early shift, greeted Galen with, “Good morning, Miss Galen.” To Kevin, she said, “[Galen] will be getting her nails done at 2.”

“This is why I work and have nothing to show for it,” Kevin quipped.

(Disclaimer: Galen gets her nails clipped at daycare; she does not get manicures.)

Galen
the diva in her crate

Kevin and I decided long ago that Galen is a diva. She’s been known to take bones out of the mouths of Bear and Kuma, her canine cousins. Or show no interest in a toy until Loki, my mother’s dog, picks it up. She can also be downright discourteous. Galen will turn her head away from Loki when he lies down beside her or give him the cold shoulder when he tries to play with her – unless, of course, she’s in a playful mood.

Even with us, Galen can be a tad tempermental. One night she sleeps in bed with us, the next she chooses her crate over our company. Some evenings she wants to play fetch, some evenings she prefers a walk through the neighborhood. She enjoys chewing bones and bully sticks, but only in the backyard. She refuses bones offered to her in the house.

Did Galen come by her diva-ness naturally, or is this something we nurtured?

The debate whether nature or nurture – our genes or our environment – shape our personalities goes all the way back to Plato, who favored nature. Centuries later, John Locke argued individuals are born with a tabula rasa or clean slate and thus, are shaped by their experiences, nurture. Today, most people agree both nature and nurture shape us into who we are.

Researchers are now examining canine personality. And it’s no surprise, perhaps, that their findings reflect a mingling of nature and nurture here, too. In The Genius of Dogs, evolutionary anthropologist Brian Hare writes, “How we nurture a dog affects how they behave, but so does their nature.” In some breeds, their nature can be genetically traced back to their ancestors, the wolf.

In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter whether Galen was born a diva or whether we coaxed the diva out of her. She is one, and we allow her to be.

We’ll have to be a bit more heavy-handed when it comes to how we raise our daughters.