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Felix (the Dog)

Happiness is a warm puppy. ~ Charles M. Schulz

I think my dog loves me. Not the "he’s a dog, I’m his human" love. But like if I were a dog we’d be getting dog-married love. Seriously. It’s a little ookie. The family, however, thinks it’s a hoot.

I’m not what you would call a "dog person." Sure we had dogs growing up but they were city dogs. They roamed around the neighborhood and only came home to eat and when it rained. Sort of like us kids, except better behaved. I digress though.

Several years ago we (by we, I mean Pat) caved and got the kids a puppy. After taking an on-line test about which breed would be best for our family (answer: get a cat) we settled on a Boston Terrier. They’re smart, small, and don’t shed were my three non-negotiable requirements for getting a puppy.

The kids were excited on that cold December day three years ago when we went to pick up our new puppy. We piled into the van full of excitement. That lasted til about Boston when the excitement was replaced with, "Are we there yet?" ketvetching. Just as we thought we were almost there, we got a little lost. Who knew there was a place that had roads that changed names in a more confusing manner than Boston? Well, there is and it’s Maine. You know, just in case you were wondering.

We were very clear about Felix being their responsibility that includes feeding and exercise. That works about as well as you can imagine but it’s a good tool when it’s raining and/or cold and I get to get all momish with the guilt and the "Oh, how’s that taking care of your dog working out?"

A funny thing has happened in the last three years; I’ve become a dog person. More accurately, I’ve become a Felix person. He’s my baby. I pet him, rub his belly, and use a stupid voice to talk to him. Yup, guilty! Honestly, I should be ashamed but I’m not. Pat mocks me for it but Felix loves his mama.

In our new family dynamic, the guys keep Felix in Plymouth which leaves me Felix-less most of the week. I swing by once or twice a week after work but it’s maybe for half an hour to see Dylan and pick up or drop off stuff. And, of course, to get my Felix love. Lately it seems that when I am in Plymouth overnight he is attached to my hip. If I get up, he gets up. If I sit down, he sits down. He used to get "mad" when Pat or the kids would hug me. Now, it’s ridiculous. No one can touch me or he’s jumping up trying to break it up. Seriously! Complete and total jealously.

Just the other day I was sitting in the kitchen on a low stool, Emma walked over to get something next to me and he jumped between us and wouldn’t let her get close. So of course Dylan had to try, same result. Then of course Pat got in on the fun. Before it was over, Felix was standing between my family and me and trying to get me to pet him and ignore them.

Maybe it’s time to call in Cesar Millan or Dr. Phil.

Barbara Mulvey-Welsh is a mother, writer and blogger raising kids and a husband in Plymouth. Check out her blog at "Did I Say That Out Loud?"  Use caution when reading around the family, there is some strong language.

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