Remember our dog?

Don't panic; we still have her. We got her before Madeleine was born, though my mother kept her until after we were settled in our house. She's a Brittany-beagle mix, and she bays when we leave if she's outside.

Longtime readers know she has chased a pit bull out of our yard over a six-foot privacy fence; longtime friends know she greets the meter reader with enthusiasm.

This morning, Rachel perceived that Lucy was hungry and took it upon herself to feed Lucy by hand. She sat her 21-month-old self between the dog and her bowl and proceeded to give the dog one morsel at a time. As I was eating breakfast, I could watch the interaction. Each time, Rachel would hold out a nugget, Lucy would work it out of her fist and eat it, and both would turn to me. Rachel would be grinning proudly and the dog was... not. "She's going to get bored before I starve to death, right? Because I'm really hungry."

It was the same expression she has when the kids pull on her ears: "You're going to stop them before it comes off, right? Because that will really hurt."
Or when they're trying to ride her like a pony: "They don't really expect me to carry them anywhere, do they? At least give me a sled. Please?"
Or when the kids are ordering her into her cage when we're going out somewhere: "I guess I have to obey the little bipeds, too." *sigh*

Just another day in the life of a dog living with small children.