How I Met My Other

Strange Invader

As told to Arielle Haughee

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Is that cheese? I love nothing better than a good floor snack. I lick the cheddar off the floor. The Big One must not have known he dropped it. He usually doesn’t like it when I help clean. I’m underappreciated around here.

We’ve been in this house for two years, and I’ve scared that crazy guy with the envelopes away every day, kept the squirrels in line out back, and have gotten the bugs whenever The Sweet One asks. She’s been getting big lately, by the way. Makes me walk real slow on the leash and complains about her feet hurting. The Big One should throw the ball for her in the front yard. That’ll get her back in shape.

They’re making noise in the living room again. I walk over and give them the look.

The Big One snickers. “Sorry, Mads. We’ll be more quiet.”

He’s got the tools out and is putting together some kind of wooden cage. That better not be for me. I haven’t been crated in years. I’m a good boy. I’ve always been a good boy, ever since the day The Sweet One scooped me up from my littermates and refused to put me down. Sure, there’s been an occasional incident or two—the houseplant, that Halloween decoration, a dog bed here and there—but I’ve always tried my best.

I sniff at the parts laying on the living room rug. Anything interesting in there? I snort. Doesn’t seem to be.

“Maddux, you’re on the directions,” the Big One says.

I have no idea what that means.

“Maddux, move.”

Me?

“I’ll take him out for a bit,” The Sweet One says and rises from the couch. “Come on, Mads. You wanna play fetch?”

Heck ya, I wanna play fetch! My tail wags, and I whine to show my answer. We head out the front door, and she bends down with a grunt, grabbing the ball thrower on the porch.

“Okay, boy. Get the ball!” She flings the ball over three front yards, and I take off. I’m all speed. People always ask if I’m part Greyhound because of how lean and fast I am. They also think I’m a Dalmatian from all my spots. Nope. Staffordshire Terrier mix, thank you very much.

I snatch up the ball and whiz back to her. She throws it again and again. And again. It takes time to wear me out.

“Ow!” she says.

I run over. I don’t like it when The Sweet One is sad or hurting.

“It’s okay, Mads, just a few kicks,” she rubs her giant belly. “Almost time, buddy. You ready for a little brother?”

I have no idea what that means.

We head back inside, and I settle in for my afternoon nap. I love my home—nice and quiet, nothing disturbing my daily routine. My eyes close. Life is great with us three together.