DOMINANCE? OR FORBIDDEN PLEASURES?

The Beagle has landed. Oliver, my new dog, a two-year-old beagle, is making himself at home. He and Louie are getting along swimmingly. In fact, it is as if they have been roomies for a long long time already.

Lou is smiling more than I have seen him smile in the last year, year-and-a-half, and his is an air of contentedness. He's got a playmate 24/7 and so he is happy. I am happy for him, too. I like his new roommate. (Although he scratches a lot and I, too, am beginning to scratch, sometimes. Uh-oh.)

Anyway, it is seeming to be a joy to have adopted young Oliver (Perhaps named after Oliver Twist, seeing as how both are or have been orphaned, unwanted? Naw, he just looks like an Oliver.)

So...what was I saying? Oh yeah. Little Ollie is making himself at home. For instance, more than a few times I have walked into my bedroom to see His Highness lounging languidly on the pillows on my bed. That ain't gonna work, Oliver. Sorry to bust yo' bubble. Too, Oliver is wholly at peace with eating out of both dog food bowls (as is Lou) and Ollie sees nothing wrong with basically taking the bone out of Lou's mouth and chewing away on it. I will not interfere; they will work it out for themselves.

One more way that Oliver has made himself at home? Whenever he and Lou playfight, invariably Oliver will end up behind Louie, slowly pumping his pelvis in the general direction of Lou's ass. And I mean slowly, languidly. Truth be told, damn near everything this little dog does is done in a languid manner. Screw "Oliver," I should have called the kid "Languid."

So which one is the Alpha? I don't know yet, but it seems that Oliver is well on his way to Napoleanic heights. Just stay off my pillow, Nappy. I could do without the itchies.