Top Dog?

Editors notes:

1. I've decided to drop the whole anonymous "our daughter" and "my wife" stuff since most everyone who will read this blog knows who I am anyway and I don't expect anything controversial to line these pages.


2. You should now be able to make "anonymous" comments. Meaning you won't have to log into the site or have an e-mail account to post something scathing about my misuse of the possessive (something I'm unfortunately famous for) or remark upon how adorable Natalie is...

Now onto the days blog:

It's been a rough go for our various four-legged friends since Natalie arrived.

Hamlet, our adopted stray, has gone missing. We hold out hope that he may yowl up to our doorstep one morning or that some kind stranger seduced him with a can of Tuna. I also like to imagine he's traveling back to his original home, preparing a play, and seeking to wreak vengeance on an evil uncle.

Bruce, our house cat the size of a house, (he's slimmed down to 18 pounds) has been simply aghast that we've allowed something else to curl up on our laps. He spends his time hunting moles (which he has become remarkably successful at), brooding in my office, and eating a lot of food in a meaningless attempt to fill the void. But he's a cat. He'll be alright.

We found out shortly before Natalie was born that Fenway, our lovable if slightly over-zealous mutt, has a form of mouth cancer. The Vets suspected an aggressive carcinoma, which they believed would likely metastasize elsewhere, so we are doing all we can to treat the symptoms and extend his life-span as long as possible. He remains energetic and happy even if we have to soak his food and give him multiple pills each morning. In fact, getting pills is now his favorite daily activity, since they are wrapped in a piece of tasty ham or bread.

He has, however, been a bit displaced by the arrival of Natalie. He is normally a bit "clingy" but now he's down-right attached to our hips. This wouldn't be a huge deal except that we're navigating a small house with a baby on our shoulder, so he regularly gets shooed and scolded.

If life were a gym class and we had the big red jelly-ball, he would be the kid nearby yelling "Hey, I'm over here! Throw me the ball! Come-on guys! I can really catch. Don't throw it to the little uncoordinated kid over there!" (Editors note: I think this metaphor fell apart sometime after "If life")

I wish I could explain that it's not just him we've been neglecting. Dishes sit in the sink, the vacuum gathers dust, and Sara and I haven't gotten hair-cuts in two months (and no that's not what the kids are calling it these days). Emotionally I feel terrible that he doesn't get as much attention as he once did, even though logically I know we need to focus on Natalie.

Well, it's late, I'm tired but before I go to sleep I need to go give my dog a good pat, and maybe give my cat some more food.