Poor Boris.

This is Bridget.

Bridget is my baby. She is 6 months old and eats sweet potatoes, squash, cereal, formula and custard.



Boris is my dog. He is quirky. He eats socks, tissues, baby bottles and pacifiers. When I bought him I was a single gal, living in Mount Pearl, Newfoundland. Alone.




Then I met Jamie and Ashley and Daniel. We became a family. Boris would watch Daniel all night. We were unsure of whether he was guarding his 5 year old boy, or stalking his prey. Now that Daniel is 10, we figure he was on guard. Boris still sleeps in under Daniel's bed with his collection of socks, tissues, baby bottles and pacifiers.




Then came baby Bridget. No longer did Boris get to spend all of his time home alone, basking in the quiet. I work from home now. The baby has a million noisy contraptions. The baby is noisy when she is is hungry, thirsty, bored and tired. She is noisiest when she is happy. Boris has retreated to under the bed.

Then this morning, the worst thing that could happen in poor Boris' life happens. He was sitting on the living room floor, petitioning for some toast. What he didn't count on is that Bridget is on the move. She can get from one side of her foam mat to the other. She didn't give him any warning when she moved slyly to where he was. She started to pet his leg like she had done it her whole life. It was lovely. I scrambled for the video camera.

Then she got ambitious. She wanted...no needed....a handful of soft grey fur to call her own.

Well I have to say I am pleased with my 100lb dog for walking away from my 18lb baby when finally I pried her little hand open and gave him his freedom. He has since been camping out in the backyard and refuses to come in. I suspect he is going to be in for a long winter.

(Boris- The Victim)