It's Official: The Bitch Is Mine

Shortly after the Major and I moved into Condoland, we decided it was finally time to get a dog. The idea was that since I 'picked' the cat, he would be the one that got to 'pick' the dog. (Anyone who's ever adopted an animal from a shelter knows that you don't choose the animal, the animal chooses you.) The Major's reasoning was that he wanted the dog to be primarily bonded to him, much like Bosco bonded to me.

But there was a flaw in his cunning plan: we adopted Roxy when the Major was better known as the Hobblenatrix. (This is a another story in and of itself, but the long and short is that he had a broken ankle.) For the first 2-3 months, I was the one that played with the dog, walked her, potty trained her, and taught her other commands. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Just come over to our house and watch what happens when we let Roxy out of her crate. She'll make a bee-line straight for me and ignore everyone else. Eventually, she'll notice the other people, greet them and play with them. Eventually.

Roxy declared her allegiance openly and officially last night. When I fell asleep last night, Roxy was sleeping in her crate and the Major was preparing to sleep in the guest bedroom. (He's not in the doghouse, he's sick and didn't want to spread the love.) Around 4 in the morning, I tried to roll over, but there was something pressing against the back of my head and shoulder. I thought it must be a pillow because I was only about 1 foot from the edge of the bed. I soon realized that it was Roxy. She had balled herself up as small as she could make herself and wedged herself between the edge of the bed and my head so she could be as close to me as possible. As I was processing this information, she gave me the "it's not time to get up yet Dad what are you doing" look. I slid over to the other side of the bed, and Roxy spread out a little bit -- just enough so that some part of her was still touching me. She could have slept on the empty half of the bed, or on the empty half of the bed with the Major in the guest bedroom. Instead, she decided she wanted to sleep more-or-less on top of my head. Sorry Majorica, this is Brandi -- the dog is mine.