For all of the years Hubby and I have owned dogs, they always came in a team. Always. The dynamic between the animals was a given because they had already lived a life together. It made going along and getting along pretty darned easy.
Blondie has been an only dog for almost four years (hard to believe that much time has gone by). While he was part of a pair (eleven years), he was decidedly not the alpha and he didn't really want to be. He has always been a lover, not a fighter.
When the sweet young thing showed up, she was all long legs, attitude, and swish as she walked, he didn't know what to do. Then he discovered she was in heat and his eyes glazed over and a look
of happiness (for the lack of a better word) washed over him. Think George Burns on his 99th birthday being presented with a showgirl, there was a fond recollection of how things were to go but not necessarily more than that.
That she was in heat made it easier for him to let the energetic thing into his territory and destroy his woobies (he has a large collection of stuffed toys that periodically get played with), sleep on his cushion, and eat from his bowl.
She was spayed last week (full shots and chip included) and given a clean bill of health. Who knew that diapers for a bitch in season were so expensive? Yeesh.
Now that lovely scent is gone and he sees her for the annoying pup she really is.
In his dreams he still gets the goofy smile and his tail twitches just so. Love may no longer be in the air, but acceptance sure is.