Three good years

“Mommy, I’ve got something that’s going to change your life,” my six-year-old says urgently.

“Really, I can’t wait,” I say amused, putting my newspaper down in front of me.

“This is very serious, for real,” she says with her hands on her little hips that are adorned in peace sign pajamas.

“OK, what do you have, spill it,” I say taking another sip of my lukewarm coffee.

“Everyone with a dog gets three good years,” she says fervently.

“What?” I say confused.

“My friend told me. If you have a dog, you get three really good years in your life in a row,” she says.

I ponder this concept for a moment. Why just three? And what does having a dog have anything to do with it? Do you get less if you don’t have a dog? Or is three a big bonus, a reward for taking in an animal and feeding her all these years? I mean vet bills and grooming costs aside, a pet is a big commitment, and not unlike a child, one you’re never truly prepared for.

“Why just three? And what does it have to do with the dog?” I ask looking at my aging canine who is eating stray pieces of macaroni from beneath the kitchen table.

“Mommy, don’t be greedy. Three is very good. And I know exactly when yours are going to be,” she says with the confidence of a wizard looking into a crystal ball.

“Great, when? I hope they haven’t passed me by without me noticing,” I say sincerely.

“It’s the three years when my sister goes to college and you just have one kid at home. That will be very easy and fun for you. The best three years of your life,” she says throwing her arms around me.

I nod and pat her on the back thinking about how such wisdom can some from someone who has only roamed the planet for six short years.