Just when you thought the saga between Falcor and Sophie was at a settled if not annoying standstill, one of my loyal readers and a lovely friend decided it was time to ‘throw another contender into the ring.’ Along with some awesome books for the baby (meant to combat the apparently inevitable princess phase with some kick-ass feminists wearing tiaras), Shana sent a parcel from Amazon. Behold:
And then (pardon the orientation of the video and the state of my house):
To say this dog boy is obsessed with Sophie is to put it mildly. He literally would know her smell ANYWHERE. But what I think I’ve failed to convey is that the baby also LOVES Sophie (see blog header), and even though I hate to admit it, the baby prefers Sophie over many others toys. What have the Vulli people put into this toy making it so addictive to both babies and dogs who think they are babies? Probably nothing I want to know about.
Now that we have so many Sophies around the house, we’ve come to a kind of peace agreement. Falcor has two Sophies, the original and Shana’s contender, who float around the house. The baby’s initial graces the bottom of the other Sophie’s hoof and we generally keep her set to the side for car trips and stroller rides, theoretically trying to avoid me being in a constant state of washing-dog-spittle-off-a-Sophie.
Once in a while, as she rolls and scoots across the room, the baby will come upon one of Falcor’s Sophies. And she grabs it greedily. And if Falcor notices, which he always does, he sprints to where the baby plays and stares, pants and whines as she unknowingly (or not?) tortures him. Like this:
Occasionally, I have seen him try to bite Sophie by the leg and gently tug her free of the baby’s grasp when she looks the other way. But mostly, he just stares at them both, the two women who have turned his life upside down in the last year, and waits. I wouldn’t say he waits patiently, but he waits. And when she drops the giraffe he picks her back up before her little rubber head has a chance to hit the floor. And then he hides her, most often in the laundry basket.
Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows.