When you want a break from dogs, and you take them to the kennel

Hear the words of Gabrielle Union, who with wit and candor declared: “When you want a break from dogs, and you take them to the kennel to the stars, no one thinks you’re a bad pet owner. But when you have kids, you can’t drop them off for three weeks without someone calling Child Protective Services!” Though cloaked in humor, these words unveil a truth sharp and timeless: the burden of responsibility is not equal in all things, and the weight of parenthood is unlike any other bond in human life.

At the heart of this saying lies the contrast between pets and children. A dog may be cherished, adored, even treated as family. Yet in the eyes of society, the dog remains a companion, not a charge of destiny. To leave it in the care of another is acceptable, even expected. But a child is not a companion only; a child is a future entrusted to your hands, a soul that must be shaped, guided, and guarded. To walk away from this duty, even for a short while, carries not just shame, but consequence. Thus Union’s jest reveals a truth: some bonds are bonds of choice, but others are bonds of blood, bound by law, love, and eternity.

The ancients knew well the difference between care and duty. Consider the Spartan mothers, who entrusted their sons to the state for training. They did not abandon them, but surrendered them to a higher discipline, believing that their children’s lives belonged not only to them but to Sparta itself. The boy could not simply be set aside like a dog in a kennel; his life demanded the constant labor of formation, whether in the household or the barracks. Parenthood, then as now, was a bond that could not be paused.

Union’s words also shine light upon the unspoken weariness of parents. To joke about dropping a child off for weeks is to confess the deep truth that raising children is relentless. Unlike the care of animals, there is no break, no off-duty, no true respite. The work of shaping a life continues through the night, through exhaustion, through frustration. And yet, within this burden lies the highest form of love: a love that endures not because it is easy, but because it is sacred.

We may see in this also the struggle between freedom and responsibility. A pet offers companionship without demanding one’s entire being; a child demands the whole heart, the whole life, often at the cost of freedom. And yet, it is in this surrender that greatness is forged. For though the parent may lose their ease, they gain the immortal work of passing themselves into another life, of carrying the flame of humanity into the next generation.

There is also hidden here a lesson of compassion. Union’s humor allows us to laugh at the impossibility of parenting without respite, but it also reminds us to show kindness to those who bear that burden. It is easy to judge, easy to criticize, easy to say what a parent should or should not do. But unless one has carried that endless responsibility, one cannot know the depth of it. Laughter here becomes a balm, a way to confess exhaustion without despair, to find joy even in struggle.

Thus, the teaching is clear: recognize the difference between the bonds you choose and the bonds you are given. Care for your pets with kindness, but care for your children with the fullness of your being, for they are not merely companions, but futures entrusted to you. And when the labor of love grows heavy, seek strength not in escape, but in community, in laughter, in the knowledge that you are shaping something greater than yourself.

So let your action be this: when you feel the weight of your responsibilities, do not despise them, but remember their meaning. Cherish your animals, but honor above all your duty to your children. Laugh when you can, rest when you are able, but do not forget that within your hands rests the most sacred trust of all—the shaping of life, the continuation of humanity, the eternal bond between parent and child.