Jackie Wells-Fauth
I have always had a rival for Roy’s affections. No, I don’t mean he has another woman; that would be easier. The rival I have for Roy’s affections is the dog. Not just any dog. She is a purebred Golden Retriever who goes out hunting with him. This is a tough rival to beat.
If this dog’s activities were restricted to hunting, I might be able to live with it, but that is not even the beginning of the ways in which the Princess (as I not so affectionately refer to her) intrudes on my life. And she’s not the first Golden Retriever to prove competition for me. The Grand Duchess started the rivalry and when she passed on in an untimely fashion (no, I didn’t murder her) that is when the Princess stepped in.
First of all, the Princess believes that she is welcome anywhere that Roy is. She lays on the floor like a throw rug, tripping all who try to pass her, because she is getting as close to Roy as she can be. If he so much as shifts in his chair, she is on her feet, ready for any adventure. If he fails to shut the bathroom door securely, she accompanies him in there as well. If I happen to walk in the bathroom, Roy will react like a startled virgin and say, “Do you mind? Shut the door!” For the Princess, however, we make sure the bathroom rug is straightened, so she has somewhere comfortable to recline.
When it comes to meals, the Princess is always thought of first. Not only does Roy fuss over when, where and how much dog food he is giving her, but he inspects my plate after a meal as though the dog were a starving orphan. “Are you going to eat the rest of that hamburger? The dog would like it.” And I would like caviar and cheesecake, but nobody goes around collecting it for me.
As far as travel is concerned, the Princess gets top billing there, as well. I would love to go shopping or visit family without having to worry about whether the drive will be comfortable for the Princess. He would leave me in a hot car with no windows rolled down, but the Princess must be given a break and then be placed in a vehicle strategically placed in some shade—even if we have to park three blocks away from wherever we have stopped. And the amount of time it takes to roll the windows down for her is phenomenal…not so closed that the air can’t flow and not so open that someone could steal her. Please, I would leave a $20 bill taped to the outside of the window if it meant she was in danger of being stolen.
I have never had a real fondness for dogs and the fact that I have to fight one for Roy’s affection has not sweetened my attitude about them. He is a most attentive owner and he finds her most attractive feature to be that she can find a pheasant he has just shot and bring it back to him in her mouth. What is MY most attractive feature? Not that, I assure you!
The other day, however, I discovered that I may move even further down the affection chain at my house. We were traveling through the town where we had purchased Roy’s new fancy red sports car. As we were driving, he patted the car’s dashboard and said, “This is the town where you were born, Charger…well, at least the town where we adopted you.”
When we got home, I went immediately went and found the dog. “Bad news, Princess, we both have a brand new rival! And she’s way younger than either one of us!”
dropsinthewell 