Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Augie

Augie, my doggie, was my first baby. His first-year scrapbook remains the only one finished from all of my "children." He once snuggled in bed with me. I put ice in his water dish, simply because he liked it that way. He was bathed on a schedule. I bought him doggie treats and toys. He went places with me. I spoiled my cute pound puppy.

Cute mutt.
This situation has drastically changed for little Augie. When we brought Ty home from the hospital, I reluctantly let Augie sniff his head. How could I have changed that much in four days? My change was permanent, in that Augie was moved down on the to-do list. Two years later when Za showed up at home? If he could have, Augie would have rolled his eyes. He knew what this meant: someone new was between him and the top of that list.

He's cute, but he still doesn't belong on the couch.


I still love him and I still take care of him. He is fed, watered, and walked. Sometimes, it is with a frown, without much enthusiasm. My feelings are mixed, ones of loyalty and selfishness; love and exhaustion.

How did it happen that I now view Augie as another being who wants something from me? Someone who I need to take potty, feed, and pet? At the end of the day, after the kids are in bed and I finally sit on the couch without a clang from the kitchen or the "Little Einsteins" theme song blaring, he nuzzles toward me and my arm is heavy as I place it on his head. He needs attention, too. But damn it, I just gave myself away for an entire day. To other people. My little people. I need a break too.

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