to be or not to be

It was interesting, watching tiny chumley work through his little head whether or not he really could pull off being alpha dog. Testing the waters every once in a while in sometimes subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways. Like, not making eye contact and practicing avoidance one minute, then whining and barking at his guests the next, protesting their presence in one of his beds, or the attention they were getting from his humans. Things, I figured, he just needed to sort out on his own, really, so he and they knew where they all stood on matters of doxie criticality.

By the end of Lily and Marshall's visit, I dare say he had everything mostly worked out. Nobody was really gonna move or stop playing with his toys whether he threw a fit or not, nobody was gonna take more human love than they were offered, and most of all, nobody was gonna be da dumpty to his attempts at humpty.

With these groundrules firmly established, little kielbasa and his guests spent Sunday afternoon working as a pack, with Baxter serving as designated ensign squirrel sentinel, while his two older houseguests and commanding officers snoozed, awaiting his call. Baxter sounded the call to arms several times, and every time they faithfully worked our backyard to free it from squirrels. A well oiled machine, I figured, with every part in its place.

Or so I thought. When I looked up from my desk in the early evening, I saw my little curious boy, gingerly tiptoeing as best as a giant goombah of a doxie ever could, trying to make a space for himself between his buddies.

shhhh! i think i've got it figured out, his eyes did whisper when he glanced at me, maybe i can be alpha dog when they're sleeping!