OK! Here's the thing. I'm a reasonably friendly Maltese. BUT!!! My territory is my territory. The 14th floor of my home on the UES of New York is becoming the dog run in Central Park.
I was the sole star on my floor. Everyone came to me for licks and tailwagging. Some even sat down on the floor and rubbed that special place just above my tail. AHHHHH!!!
Then ... along came ROCKO. The Boston Terrier. Lumbering up and down the hall to his apartment. I know he's there. We tolerate each other. (Actually, between you and me, I find him fascinating.)
But, now I have to come to a place of peace, because "my" Rachel, my next door neighbor, who grew up with me, has gotten her own ......................................... dog.
Roxie, the Norfolk Terrier.
I was introduced to her while she was penned up in the kitchen (she's a puppy, you understand, and puppies are 'uncontrollable' little things).
I was heartbroken.
I cried.
Rachel, my pal, went and got something with four legs like me to fawn over. It's too much!
Herself and I had some talks about sharing, acceptance and the one she seemed to stress, tolerance. But, it's all gone over my head. I'm a dog. Don't except me to be a saint.
I'll have to think about this. I'll wait by the door in case you come and want to philosophize more about sainthood.
Why can't it just be like it was?
I'll deal with it. I'm adaptable.
I'm the adult around here.
But, I sure hope they remember to respect their elders.
