There are two dogs in our house.
One large. One small.
Which means, when new toys arrive, we sometimes buy two versions of the exact same thing: one large toy for Rio and one small toy for Remi.
This should solve the problem.
It does not.
Rio gets his new toy. Remi gets his new toy. They are identical except for size, and for a brief and shining moment, everyone is delighted with what they have.
And then someone looks over.
Apparently, the same toy becomes significantly more interesting when it is in your brother’s mouth.
And so the exchange begins.
Sometimes it’s a clean theft. One gets distracted, the other moves in, and by the time anyone realizes what has happened, Rio has the tiny version and Remi is attempting to haul away the large one.
Other times, there is a tussle.
Eventually, through some combination of persistence, wrestling, and highly questionable negotiating tactics, both boys usually end up reunited with their appropriately sized toys.
Usually.
Remi tends to handle these situations himself.
Rio, on the other hand, has developed an escalation process.
If he can’t get his toy back, he comes to find a human.
He barks.
This is not a general announcement. It is a formal request for intervention.
There has been an injustice. I have attempted to resolve it through the appropriate channels. I now require assistance.
If assistance is not immediately provided, Rio moves to the final stage of the grievance process:
The dramatic flop.
Onto the couch.
Onto the bed.
Onto whatever piece of furniture happens to be closest.
There he remains, the picture of a dog who has been deeply wronged by both his brother and the system designed to protect him.
Meanwhile, somewhere nearby is another toy.
The exact same toy.
Just slightly smaller.
And honestly, there might be something familiar in all of this.
We can be perfectly content with what we have until we look over and notice what someone else is holding.
Their opportunity.
Their house.
Their job.
Their life.
Suddenly, ours seems a little less interesting.
Even when, in all the ways that actually matter, what we already have fits us just fine.
Of course, Rio and Remi will eventually get their own toys back. Then they’ll switch again. And by tomorrow, both toys may be abandoned on the floor in favor of a cardboard box or something they’re not supposed to have.
Which is perhaps the best reminder of all.
Sometimes the thing we were so sure we needed wasn’t actually better.
It was just in someone else’s paws.
