About two weeks before we were married, Taylor and I purchased a Colorado Mountain Dog (CMD) puppy whose color perfectly matched my wedding dress and whose personality perfectly matched our desires. Our dog, Andromache (from Homer’s Iliad), was truly everything we could want in a pet and is generally docile, attentive, and gentle — even with kids. In fact, “suitability with children” was one of our primary concerns when choosing Mache (sounds like “McKee”). Predominantly Great Pyrenees in origin, the CMD is an adroit livestock guard dog and an equally adept family pet. Aside from barking throatily at “intruders” (i.e. anyone within fifty feet of our property), Mache has never shown aggression toward humans. Her bark is truly worse than her nonexistent bite.
And yet, as my due date approached, the prospect of introducing Borealis and Mache infused me with tension. This anxiety only grew once the baby arrived. Our little family left for the hospital under inauspicious circumstances, so I was concerned that Mache would harbor the resulting confusion and resentment against her new brother.
And, well, she did. Not in an aggressive way, thankfully — just in a complete and utter aversion to all things baby. In a counterintuitive turn of events, Taylor and I found we needed to encourage more interaction between our kids, rather than less. We were compelled to effusively praise our dog whenever she so much as sniffed the new baby — anything to encourage the blossoming of what may one day be a beautiful friendship.
And like the blossoming of anything beautiful, the friendship between our kids has taken / is taking its sweet, sweet time. While pregnant, I would fantasize about my dog and child frolicking amongst wheat and flowers in a bucolic pastoral landscape, chasing butterflies that would lead them to a magical world where Bo and Mache would overthrow a cruel tyrant, rescue the princess, restore balance to the realm, and be home in time for dinner. Instead, in the first half of Bo’s life, I got to see just how completely my dog can tuck her tail.
Over the months, however, the frosty distance between Bo and Mache gave way to a cool indifference, and I would find them stoically occupying the same space as they both waited for the fun parent to come home from work.
Alt caption: The Creation of Mache
And then, virtually overnight, Mache’s fear of Bo vanished. She altogether gave up shying away from his touch, or vacating any room he occupied, or refusing to lick up his baby vomit. (That last one was particularly frustrating for me. It’s so hard to find good help nowadays.)
“Aw, how sweet!” you might prematurely conclude. “I do love a happy ending!” (And so do I — please let me know if you find one for me.)
No, it is not the affection of siblinghood that has brought my dog and baby together, but rather its ever-present ugly twin, jealousy. You see, this cold war thawed as a side-effect of my dog’s envy. Equipped with a remarkably one-track mind, Mache has simply forgotten to fear the baby’s presence as she works to reclaim her birthright as the oldest — and thereby, favoritest — child. Despite her initial aversion to even the sight of Bo, she now has no problem sitting right next to him — or, as the need arises, on top of him.
Alt caption: “Love me instead!”
It’s quite something to see an animal consumed by one of the seven deadly sins. Our dog is jealous of any and all attention lavished on Borealis, and will actively (but gently!) try to divert the affection back toward herself. Mache’s best trait — her cuddly loyalty — is now quite literally pushing our family apart.
This quandary had us in quite the pickle. How were we going to facilitate any sort of relationship between our kids? Both of our apparent options were bad: let Mache and Bo battle it out for our attention, or stick the dog in her crate and ignore her loud whimpers of loneliness and despair.
Just the other day, though, I realized something significant. The point of contention here was not whether or not the dog liked the baby. Rather, the competition was for Taylor’s and my attention. Theoretically, then, the dog and baby should get along fine so long as they’re interacting independently of us parents. We decided to ops test this hypothesis for dinner one night.
Borealis has recently started to feed himself, and for safety reasons, we always put his free-standing baby seat on the floor. Mache is well-trained out of the kitchen, so oftentimes Bo would “eat” his Cheerios in the middle of the kitchen while a dismayed Mache looked on from afar.
The night of this story, we decided to shift Bo’s seat to the edge of the tile such that he was eating just on the border of Mache’s “restricted” area. A few sharp reprimands were enough to teach Mache that food on the tray is off-limits. She was, however, welcome to any food that Bo dropped/knocked/threw to the floor.
The resulting scene between Bo and Mache was truly heartwarming, and their relationship bloomed with the chummy camaraderie of a shared meal.
Things have genuinely improved in the intervening weeks since. With Taylor and I taken out of the equation and Bo [mostly] able to feed himself, Mache now sees the baby as a reliable and generous source of food (rather than merely as competition for our love). Plus, Bo has started intentionally sharing his food with the dog, which I have been told is a normal sign of good social development.
The improvement in their relationship has even extended to times in which no food is present. It seems as though Mache has finally taken Borealis under her metaphorical wing, and I can only hope the ceasefire holds.
After all, I’m counting on Bo and Mache to take care of each other when the next baby is born! 😉