A dog's life

Poor, poor Rizzo. Since the birth of Eowyn, she has moved far down the totem pole of my attention and affection. And as she ages, she has grown more...incontinent. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a time when I can have rugs in the house without them getting peed all over. When I can lay a clean bath mat on the floor, reach to grab a towel, and turn back without discovering fresh pee on it. When the smell of dog urine doesn't threaten to assail my nostrils at unexpected moments.

I used to be quite the dog person. I could identify many of the different breeds, and even what kind of breed it was--toy dog, working dog, etc. Rizzo herself was treated tantamount to my own offspring.

The night Eowyn came home, that all changed. Rizzo's spot by my side in the bed was forfeited without mercy, since Eowyn slept best those first few months by nursing in bed at night. So often ignored or pushed away, Rizzo ceased following me from room to room or curling up next to me on the couch.

I can see, intellectually, that this is sad, yet I'm not sad about it. My love for Eowyn and the priority of her needs are just so much greater to me. Rizzo is now a creature to be tolerated, cared for adequately, and shown moderate affection when I'm not too tired to do so.

Christian, or course, thinks this is monstrous. Rizzo will always be the original princess to him.

Her spot in the sun grows smaller