She, as a matter of fact, fit in the Civic quite nicely. Everywhere I went, Lilly was the co-pilot. Not confined to the backseat like any old pet, she claimed the front passenger seat as her own. And when I couldn’t bring her in with me somewhere, she dutifully kept my seat warm. We were inseparable. Except when she got a little too friendly with a skunk. Lilly did not sit in the front that week.
Life goes on, however, and soon she found herself sharing the passenger seat with my new beau, who would within a year become my husband. Lilly took to John just fine and he accepted her as part of the family. Fast forward another year and Lilly’s world (as well as ours) was rocked. We had a baby. My mother had once told me that when we had kids, I’d forget all about Lilly. Never, I protested. She was practically my first born. I am beginning to realize that Mom’s know everything.
As my mother accurately predicted, life with a child—a human child—has a way of rearranging one’s priorities. It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly and surely Lilly was no longer the favorite. She began to take a back seat. No longer did she get the full belly massage. A distracted rub under the table with the sole of someone’s shoe would have to suffice. But she took it in stride, and like most dogs she made the best of what little attention she was offered.
Her time inside was limited. She spent a good deal of the day pining away at the front door wondering, I suppose, when we would come to our senses and realize how easy we once had it. I mean, for goodness sakes, she came house trained! And there I was scrubbing baby poo off cloth diapers. What were we thinking? Trained, weaned, and fixed. And if she stunk, (usually due to her uncanny ability to find road kill and roll in it) out she went. No back-talk (in fact, no talking at all), and she ate the same food—straight from a bag—everyday without complaint.
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