The Murdoch totem pole

Dogs are said to be man’s best friend… as in humans. However, I have found this to be completely untrue. Male dogs are best friends with men and men alone! Our border collie, Alfie, is totally and utterly in love with my husband. He lives on the heals of his feet, bats his long puppy eyelashes at him every chance he gets, and dotes and loves on him every morning and every evening, actually every chance he gets. And when it comes to me he treats me like I am the two week old chopped liver we just threw in his bowl.

In Alfie’s eyes I am third in the Murdoch household totem pole. The order in which he sees it is, first, master of the house, king of the castle, God of #9 Fort Cumberland, my husband, Andrew. Next in his hierarchy is the Prince himself, Alfie. And last comes me… peasant, scum, servant, cleaner of dirty paws, Elyse. To Sir Alfred I am that long haired woman creature who keeps lurking and hanging around when the men of the house are trying to have their daily special bonding time. I am that stinky girl who won’t leave his best friend alone. I am that thing in the corner who he worries if he comes too close he might catch my cooties.

All of these feelings were made obvious to me when Andy recently was out of town on another four week “lets shoot guns and play cops and robbers” training course with work. This is when I noticed Alfred’s true feelings toward me. It usually begins when Alfie notices Andy will not be coming home. This typically takes him a few days of searching the house, the yard, and jumping up to look out the window with every rustle of leaves to see if it is his master coming through the gate. When he realizes the king of the house is not returning, he then lets me know that he is now in charge. He stops greeting me at the door to instead stay sprawled out on this throne, my couch, where he barely lifts his head off the pillow when I walk in and instead gives me a look as if to say, “Put some kibbles in my bowl slave, I’m hungry.”

He really didn’t hold back with his feelings toward me the other morning. As I woke up on a beautiful sunny Sunday morning, I stretched and rolled over to be faced with his royal highnesses legs in the air, tongue out, dreaming of chasing sheep while his head rested on his newly claimed $50 tempurpedic pillow. It was when I dared to move and disturb his beauty sleep that he jumped up and hopped over me, landing his front two paws on the floor and his back legs on the edge of the bed, dog butt in my face. He then lifted his tail and farted the absolute loudest, smelliest, and longest dog fart I have ever seen, heard, or smelt! It was this moment that I came to terms with my place on the Sir Alfie totem pole.