In 2002, Rob and I fell under the spell of an adorable puppy gaze and came home from the mall with a 2-month-old Pembroke Welsh Corgi that we named Bella. A year later, we found ourselves with a second one, named Kody. We’ve spoiled them rotten ever since, and they’ve been like kids to us – kids that we could leave at home in kennels while we were at work, and who had an annoying habit of nibbling on the edges of the carpet.
Up until about May 14, the dogs really could do no wrong (other than the time they tore up the kitchen floor in our apartment). Sure, they barked a lot and occasionally had accidents on the floor, but they were our babies and we didn’t mind.
Since bringing Kaylee home, however, they’ve suddenly become capable of doing wrong. Lots and lots of wrong.
That habit of being constantly underfoot now means that I’m worried about tripping down the stairs while carrying the baby. Their need to alert me every time a car door slams three blocks away now carries with it the danger that they’ll wake Kaylee from her naps. Their desire to lounge on every piece of furniture in the house means I’m constantly picking dog hairs out of the baby’s mouth.
When I was about five months pregnant, my uncle told Rob and me that we’d probably exile the dogs to the backyard after the baby was born. I assured myself that wouldn’t happen, because our dogs held highly important positions in our household.
And now… well, now the dogs keep up their doggie duties, alerting me of visitors and keeping an eye on the household – from their stations in the backyard.