At one point, George and Gus (Gus is George's brother and Mom's dog) got into a scuffle over George's food, and I got caught in the crossfire. As I rolled up my pant leg to see blood dripping down my leg, Mom got this horrified look on her face and gasped, "Oh no! Gus bit you?" and I said what is quite possibly the dumbest thing I've said in years:
"No, no. Gus didn't bite me. It's not his fault. My leg got in the way of his teeth, that's all."
Let me clarify: Gus bit the shit out of me. It took one more such dumb remark on my part before I realized that I lack a little perspective when it comes to these dogs. It was a couple nights later, and Steve and I were feeding the dogs by ourselves.
Steve: Is there a certain way we need to do this?
Me: Yeah, you gotta put down their food in a certain order in certain places, that way people don't eat other people's food.
Steve: [sets down bowl, looks at me] That way people don't eat other people's food?
Me: [long pause] That way dogs don't eat other dogs' food.
Steve: That's better.
I have got to start establishing boundaries with the dogs. They're my fur babies, and I love them so much. Apparently I love all dogs, and that's lovely, but I'm too willing to step aside and let them run my household. Unacceptable, especially with a little one on the way. Starting now-ish, there's a new sheriff in town!