Chore. It’s an ugly little word. A cross between chalky and boring, it even sounds unpleasant.

This may have been one reason why my mom, ever attuned to the music of language, never assigned this word to the care of her children or her pets. Lots of child experts will tell you that caring for the family pet is an excellent way to teach children responsibility. It may be true, but on this, as on many “expert decrees,” my Mom quietly dissented.

To her, the quickest way to demote man’s best friend to the level of yard work was to assign the word “chore” to him. Walking our dogs and feeding out cats was, for her, an act of love—not remotely related to taking out the garbage or shoveling the driveway. Our dogs and cats were family, with nearly equal status as the two-footed relations (valued more highly than some). Taking care of them was a privilege, not a chore for kids. My siblings and I were allowed to do it, if we were good. We weren’t paid for it or punished with it.

In my mother’s house, the pets ate when we ate, lounged where we lounged. Mom cleaned up their “accidents” (and ours) with Pine Sol and patience. There was no swatting and no shaming, for man or beast.

My mom wasn’t the world’s most fastidious housekeeper, but fresh water in the dog bowls was sacrosanct. She wouldn’t go to bed until the pets’ water was topped off. On hot days, she added ice. When I grew up and she visited my house, I’d catch her eyeing the pet bowls. If they weren’t full, she’d cast a commiserative look at my pets and raise an eyebrow at me.

Since she was small, my own daughter has watched me walk our dogs (in sleet and wind), scoop cat litter, and keep the pet bowls filled. She frequently asks if she may pour out the kibble, hold the leash, or brush a shaggy coat. And whenever she draws pictures of her family, she always labels us: “Mommy, Daddy, Jazzy, Oyster, and me.”


MaryKat Parks Workinger is the editorial director of EduGuide.