Diaper changes? No problem. Midnight feedings? Bring it on. I was in this. Fully.
Rose and I had been trying for years. I mean years.
Everything was perfect after Zoey arrived. Okay, almost perfect.
Our golden retriever, Beau, was the one thing that had me scratching my head.
He’d always been the gentlest dog. The kind who’d greet the mailman like a long-lost friend, tail wagging so hard it could knock over furniture. He was loyal, affectionate, and loved kids. We’d rescued him a few months after we married, and he was family.
But after Zoey came home, he changed.
At first, we chalked it up to adjustment. He followed Rose around like a second tail, constantly alert. And when she’d put Zoey in the crib, Beau would plop down right next to it, eyes trained on the baby like a sentry on duty.
“Maybe he thinks she’s a puppy,” I joked once, trying to lighten the mood. But Rose just looked worried.
“He doesn’t even sleep anymore,” she whispered. “He’s always watching.”
We tried to see it as endearing. Beau, the guardian. Beau, the protector.
