The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Driveway

Relations between my mother and me have never been easy. And when I say never I do mean never as in from the womb never. She came from an alcoholic father who dragged her all over Europe during her childhood and abandoned her in one cruel Catholic school after another. Her mother was a fashionista who very much enjoyed their jet setting lifestyle but who had little idea of what to do with a child. Thus the series of Catholic schools with nuns who routinely beat her for not speaking the language of whatever country they happened to be inhabiting at the time. So my mom grew up with serious abandonment issues and a preference for male companionship. At some level I understood this from a very young age, I knew she very much enjoyed my brother’s company to mine and I knew she was very self-contained. It all seemed to work since my dad had a special place for me when he was around and I was fine with the no emotion thing.
Now that my mom and I are roomies the situation hasn’t changed. She has her preferences, I try to respect them. Usually it goes fairly well and sometimes I fancy we are a pretty stable mother-daughter team, that is until something rolls along to test that bond. Something say like me running over her dog. Yes, not a good stress factor on the relations. The fact of the matter is that I ran over the wrong dog. We have three here at the Manor. There is Angus, the large, scary looking one who is really the most gentle being on the face of the earth. Then there is Mouse, my asshole Boston Terrier/Doxin mix. He sucks and is a shit head but he loves the kids and protects them to a fault. Lastly, there is Kaitlyn, the one I happened to maim in the driveway last Friday. This is the dog my father loved to pieces and thought was the best dog ever. Out of three dogs I had to hit her. What are the chances? Okay, 1 in 3, but still?
I understand when my mom saw Kaitlyn roll under the front of my car and get spit out the back with her leg at a scary angle she saw the last bit of her life with my dad disappearing. But damn, I didn’t realize I would be frosted off the team with such swift efficiency. Ouch. Don’t get me wrong, I feel as awful as awful can be about squishing the dog. It was a horrible experience. When I felt the car go thu-thunk I was sure I had run over Mouse and broken is long weiner dog back. When I figured out it wasn’t him I was literally sick with guilt at hurting Kaitlyn. But, and isn’t there always a but, it truly was an accident. Not once in the days since The Incident has my mother asked if I am all right. Sure the dog spent two nights in a special emergency vet hospital with round the clock care. Yes, she had to endure two surgical attempts to right her wronged limb. But, hello? She’s fine now. In fact, as I write this she has hopped up on the chair next to me and is bathing my feet. She holds no grudges and can hop up and down. All’s well that ends well, right?
Uh, no. My mother has to make a point to announce every time Kaitlyn needs one of her three medications and then she shares with us all just what that pill does: ease her pain, alleviate swelling, etc. Every time she walks by the dog she crouches down and tells her just how glad she is to have Kaitlyn here with us. Plus, she is eerily quiet towards me. I am not sure if she feels weird about her extreme display of emotions right after the accident, picture a grown woman rolling and wailing in the gravel of the driveway while a three year-old and a ten-year-old look on with fear and confusion, or if she is stewing with some sort of Catholic guilt whammy to launch my way when I least expect it. You just never know with my family. I do love her and enjoy her company when I am not second guessing her motives, but on a purely selfish level I am so relieved I didn’t kill the dog or cause her to have a leg amputation. I would never be allowed back on the team if either scenario were a reality.