Meet Chewta

I do things on a daily basis as a parent that I thought I never would, including things I said I'd never do, things I used to be annoyed by when other people did them and things that are gross. Today I took my daughter to get ice cream with some friends of ours and allowed her to carry with her AT ALL TIMES a potentially dangerous bit of chain which she has proclaimed is the leash for her dog Chewta. People looked at me, and I could see in their minds that they thought I was either totally negligent to allow the darling to play with a rusty "I'm gonna beat your ass at the playground" kind of toy or too poor to buy her something more appropriate like those charming pull-along telephones or wooden animals with flappy feet. I wanted to explain to them that I had begged her to take along her special rocks purse or monkey backpack, her stuffed pony-in-a-purse, her little plastic car, all to no avail. She grabbed hold of one end of the chain that sits coiled beside our back door (because, after all, there are SOME limits), and lovingly dragged the other end behind her, telling me "Chewta get ice cream, too."



It's not that I am embarrassed by our new invisible friend: on the contrary, I LOVE Clementine's little imagination. She does get a little excited with Chewta, however, and that usually involves running around in circles with him until the chain whips her legs into little red welts, the likes of which she shares with anyone in Chewta's path. At an ice cream stand or in the park, I do tend to be a little sensitive to the damage she can do to other children (and, let's be honest, I hate the holier-than-thou glances from parents who were probably wondering what she could catch from being in such close proximity to something not made of primary color plastic). Chewta is welcome anywhere in my world; I just wish his chain would stay at home.

But it is the chain that is the very essence of Chewta. I suspect he was born not solely out of Clementine's obsession with dogs or hidden desire to depose our family cat and install a little puppy, but also of a crafty desire to avoid my wrath when she wouldn't put that damn length of chain down after the 20th time I asked her to the other day. At first it was a necklace and then a hat and then a swing and then a bracelet and then a little star and then "Clementine, if you don't put that down right now you're going to go inside!" followed by "But Mama it is for my tiny little puppy." I had never heard of the tiny little puppy before, so of course I had to know more. And that's how Chewta came to be.

Here's what we know so far (and it's surprising how little the details change): Chewta is a boy, he is green, he likes to travel by leash (damn chain) and also in Clementine's back pocket (I can't even begin to express how difficult it is to dress the child these days for at least ONE article of clothing on her person MUST have a pocket, even if Chewta isn't in the foreground of her mind). At night he sleeps in Daddy's shoe, and he can magically appear in Clementine's hand. He eats only peas, cherries and ice cream and he says only "Woof, woof," not "Bark, bark." He is an interesting specimen to say the least.

I'm at odds to day what the best part of Chewta is for me. I am not a dog lover and can't stand to think of there being one more thing in our house that needs attention and care (plants are long dead, and the laundry is dying a slow death). I like that we can walk the dog when we want but not have its cold nose snuffling at our feet while we eat dinner. We can pet him and roll around with him but still pack ourselves off for a weekend of camping without worrying about who will feed and walk him three times a day. Indeed, he can come with and I don't have to carry his poop around in little plastic bags or worry about whether or not he's allowed in restaurants. But none of this is why I love Chewta so much.

I love Chewta for the way he sprung from Clementine's imagination (or ingenuity) and continues to grow and change based on her understanding of the world. She calls all the shots with him, and I like the little glimpse this provides into what is important to her, what she's noticing about the things that go on around her. It reminds me a little of when my niece would talk to me on the phone about a new toy or short and say "Wanna see it?" holding the phone away from her ear without bothering to think of how that little piece of technology really worked. Chewta is what Clementine wants him to be, chain and all. I don't think he'll be something that stays with us long, but for now I'm happy to walk him and buy him ice cream, pet him and ask questions about what he likes to drink.