The Corner

Bow Wow Bleg

Could someone help me out here? Crusoe Z. is supposed to be the kid’s dog, but so far the puppy has been trailing me around, refusing to permit me to leave its sight. (When I made my morning coffee today, he followed me from one side of the kitchen to the other, and whenever I paused for more than about half a second—as when I filled the beaker with water at the sink, and as when I poured the water into the coffee maker—he sat down, not at my feet, but on my feet.)

In one sense, I don’t mind this. I have a lot of writing to do this week, and it turns out that having a puppy curled at my feet helps, quite handily, with the one aspect of writing that I thoroughly dislike—the solitude. As I type, Crusoe is curled up under my desk, and before sending this off I’ll stake a snapshot of the dog and attach it to the posting. But this morning before they went off to school I overheard a couple of the kids referring to the puppy as “Dad’s dog,” and that simply will not do.

How am I to persuade this creature to unbond with me and bond to my children instead?

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