Lucky Dog

We acquired Sandy, my eleven-pound Pekingese, about six years ago.  She was a scrawny pup given to Beba as a gift.  And, like most children's pets, she quickly became my responsibility.  After the vows and promises that Morgan would be her primary caregiver, it was no time at all before she was mine to take care of.  I am the only one she'll listen to and the only one she begs for love and attention.  She allows the other members of the family to live here--in her house.  She's a bitch, but we love her dearly. 

I grew up with Cocker Spaniels and had zero experience with other breeds.  Pekingese would not have been my breed of choice, to say the least.  They're yappy, hyper, and ultra-possessive.  After doing some research, the advice I got about house-training was something akin to "Yeah, good luck with that".  We eventually got it done, though.

On the flip side, she is one of the most loving and loyal creatures I have ever known.  She takes up with one, maybe two, members of the household and is loyal to them 'til the end.  She would spend her last breath trying to save me from a perceived threat. 

"You talkin' to me?"

Most of my homeys lovingly refer to Sandy as "Satan".  When they see her, she is in the throws of following her instincts to protect her domain, her things, her food, and me.  Mostly her.  She has a fierce case of "little dog syndrome" and is not afraid of anything . . . . except losing my affection.

When John and I started dating, it was no time at all before he was head-over-heels in love with the little bitch.  He is drawn to them.  Bitches, I mean.  I guess that speaks volumes about his love for me.  Ha!  I used to tease that Sandy was the only reason he was in the relationship.  He showers her with love, affection, toys, and treats.  She has more toys than Riley (John being the biggest one), and I dare say probably always will.  Even that's not good enough though.  Twice in the last week I have caught her sneaking toys out of Riley's toy basket.  Bitch.  She is one of two princesses in this house, and she gets treated accordingly.  By John, at least.  My mother-in-law swears she gets treated better than most kids.

I have read that canines can sense when their beloved humans are injured or ill.  They sense pregnancy as both.  She was by my side all those nights I tossed and turned or was up pacing the floors because I couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep.  Or because the baby chose 3 a.m. to treat my uterus as a Jungle Gym.  If I was up, she was up.  If I paced, she paced.  She even endured my daily two mile walks in the freezing cold, trying to coax my body into labor.  By the end of my pregnancy, she and I became inseparable.  I cried on my way to the hospital because I had to leave her behind.  And because somehow I knew things would never be the same between us.  I was right.

I treated Riley's homecoming with the utmost care where she was concerned.  We took the advice of pet experts and brought something home that smelled like him, so she could get used to it before we actually brought "the thing" home with us.  I didn't dare cross the threshold of the house for the first time carrying the baby.  I immediately dropped down on the floor to get my kisses and welcome home.  And then we introduced her to Riley.

At first she was ultra-protective of him.  At times, she wouldn't even let John near me or the baby.  It was no time at all before she was letting me know Riley needed something when he cried.  She would look at me as if to say, "You hear him, right?  Um, you gonna DO something?".  She was protective and wary of him.  She didn't dare go near him.  It's amazing what their instincts tell them. 

I try, and mostly fail, to divide my attention between the two of them.  Several times a day as I am cheerfully playing with or talking to Riley, I catch her giving me this look.  As if to say, "How could you?  I was here first".  She's killin' me.

The Princess on her Throne in the van on a road trip.

As Riley becomes more active, mobile, and vocal she is becoming more and more threatened by him.  This is evidenced by her "claiming" her things by running interference when he gets close to them.  Or by "checking" him when I put her food out.  This is when she goes up to him and butts her head against some part of his body, to let him know that this is HERS.  I guess she thinks he's taken everything else she loves, why not this too.  It breaks my heart and makes me want to "check" her at the same time. 

It's gonna be no time at all before Riley is crawling and walking and is really able to get close to the things she loves.  How is she gonna act then?  I am trying to prevent being in the position of having to entertain the thought of getting rid of her.  It would kill me, but I can't have her bein' ugly to the baby. 

In the battle of bitches, I can assure you I'm gonna win this one. 

Suggestions or similar experiences are welcome, as I am fresh out of ideas.  I hope there's a clear and simple way to fix this.  I'm afraid I will be seeking legal counsel if I threaten to get rid of John's beloved.