Because of Rumble’s new exercise routine, we had to haul him out to the dog park on Nelson this morning. First thing this morning. Really early. Really.
Well, it was like 9 am. Sue me, it’s the weekend.
Rum always knows when we go to the dog park and how we get there, so he always leads the way. On top of that, I think he’s figured out that we always stop at one particular Starbucks on the way. Cut to the chase, we got our morning food going on and got to the park, where Rum got to socialize with 20 or so other dogs, from rat-size to ginormous. He had a good time, and every five minutes or so would come sprinting back to us to make sure we were still there. Until Jeff wasn’t.
Jeff had his morning scone from SB’s in his pocket and a giant Husky/Shepherd cross name Hunter or Dakota or Britney or something kept rubbing his head against Jeff’s sweater, playing for a nom. Every human who walks into the park gets the once over by the dogs in case of treats, and so Jeff now had a fan who wouldn’t leave him alone. To resolve, Jeff buggered off outside of the fence to eat his scone without 90 lbs. of giant dog climbing up his nose saying “COOKIE!”
So when Rum came tearing up to me after sprinting around with the pack for a few minutes and didn’t find Jeff there, he went absolutely snakey.
Rumble loves me; we play, I feed him, give him scritches and treats and everything he needs. Jeff is Rumble’s Alpha, though – Jeff takes him to work every day, walks him all the time, and is in the long and short of it the centre of Rumble’s universe. So when Jeff disappeared, Rumble freaked out and ran to the gate, howling like mad. Even when Jeff called and caught his attention and Rum saw him, he was still bananas because Jeff was outside the fence. Meanwhile, I’m right next to him, petting him and trying to calm him down, feeling like a dick because Rumble couldn’t give a damn. Rumble was all “Dad’s outside the fence and Dad’s not here and I’m all alone, oh this guy lives with me and picks up my shit and feeds me but the Good One is outside and come back, Good One!”
I’m not bitter at all.
The drama ended quickly; Jeff scarfed his scone and came back through the gate and Rumble was happy again. His goldfish-level memory kicked in and he wandered off – within a few minutes he was perched on top of a confused black lab, humping like mad and grinning from ear to ear with all four feet off the ground.
We left shortly after, and when we got home, Jeff took Rum and stuck him in the bathtub to get the collective drool, dirt and dust of twenty dogs out of his fur. Rum was not impressed by this. Neither was Jeff.
I was impressed though, sitting on the couch, watching television and not being Rumble’s Alpha covered in doggy bathwater. 
Rum's the kind of dog who gets pissy if you're taller than he is.
Yep, the dog likes me, and I cannot be apologetic for it. He loves you, but in a different way.
Kind of the same thing here. Daddy’s okay for some petting and playing and stuff, but my dogs are neeeeeeeeeeeever at his feet in the bathroom. @@ Lucky me, I always have six eyes staring at me while I pee.
Nor is his physically touching any dog, let alone three in the bed at night. I am the lucky one to have one on my pillow, one who is stretched out right along my side and one curled up between my legs.
Gotta love the Alpha love. ;o)
I draw the line at dogs on the pillow! Rumble always finds his way under the covers, though…