Rage

It's always Rage. Rage is our spoiled, grouchy, sometimes hateful 8 1/2 year old yorkie.

I've been replaced. It's sad, so sad...

Every morning that I get Sleeping Beauty out of her crib, she sees me... smiles that perfect smile... and then yells for Rage.

When we drive home, the last few miles are usually a bit tense. By then I've run out of creative ways to pass the time (animals to talk about, songs to sing, people to name). So, I pull out the big guns: "Do you want to see Rage?" Barking follows. That's right. My small child barks at the mention of her beloved dogs. Immediately following the barking is the calling of Rage's name. When Rage doesn't come running (obviously, since we're still in the car!), the princess starts calling for Mav (the obese lab that she took her first steps towards).

It really is a challenge raising a little lady that thinks she's part dog, but also it's difficult to raise two dogs that think they are part human.