It can be a full-blown sentence—or a lengthy narrative epic, depending on the day. Luckily for me, I have a lovely family. Not only are my humans to my liking (do not let the shorter, fatter one know that), but the extended crew is solid, too.

I love my grandmother. My aunt is fun. The cousins, aunts, and uncles are all great. I won’t even get started on the friend-of-a-friend network. But this story? This one’s about the dogs.

Because this Christmas, I met two new canine cousins. And let me tell you—they had thoughts about me.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, the chubby human and I loaded up our sleigh and headed up the country to the family place. Spirits were high. Music loud. Presents packed. The tubby one was already mentally halfway into a Bloody Mary, which—according to him—makes the drive “fly by.”

I’ve made that trip enough times to know every turn. After a brief celebratory dance in the backseat, I settled in for a nap. But the second we crossed that cattle gap at the entrance, I was wide awake. Game on.

There is work to be done when you arrive at your kingdom.

Sniffing. Surveying. Representing.

You see, I am the resident canine mascot of this operation. Usually the only dog on the property. But not this time.

Not even close.

The moment my human opened the door, I launched out and began inspecting the grounds. Everything looked in order—naturally, since I had been there three days prior. But then…

Cousin Fe arrived.

Now Fe? She is beloved. A true dog person. Her last Yorkie, Bella, recently passed, and we are all still mourning. Bella and I had… a relationship.

She considered herself royalty. I was, in her eyes, a swamp-born peasant.

She’d lure me in with those “come play” eyes, wait until I got close, and then—bam—a well-timed paw to the face. I fell for it every single time.

So imagine my surprise when I saw Fe again—this time with a miniature version of Bella.

Enter Ellie.

A tiny Parti Yorkie with confidence far exceeding her size.

Now, I tower over this dog. I mean, it’s not even close. But something shifted in that moment. Bella was gone. Ellie was new. And for the first time…

I was the alpha.

My human was yelling something about “be nice,” but there was no need. Ellie and I hit it off immediately. After the standard sniff-and-circle introductions, we got down to business.

Running. Wrestling. Mock battles of great importance.

We played all day. And most of the next.

We also received Christmas gifts—of course we did. A pheasant toy and Lamb Chop XII were among my personal highlights.

Eventually, Fe and Ellie headed out on Christmas afternoon. I hated to see her go. But not for long.

Because just before what I will refer to as “afternoon toddy time,” ML arrived.

ML is family in every sense but blood. She’s owned just about every kind of dog you can imagine—Labs, Goldens, Boston Terriers. Most recently, she had an older Chihuahua named Buster, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.

Buster has since passed. Again, not loving this trend.

But ML didn’t come alone.

She brought Lila.

Another Chihuahua. Older. Delicate. Reserved.

And deeply suspicious of me.

She looked at me like I had been sent directly from the underworld.

Which, to be fair, is not the first time I’ve received that feedback.

Lila kept her distance. Polite, but cautious. Later that evening, she found herself nestled comfortably between my two humans.

Now let’s be clear about something.

If there is a situation developing between my humans and another dog, I am not optional in that equation.

I inserted myself accordingly.

A low growl. A subtle lip curl. Just enough to make my position known.

I was immediately corrected.

Apparently, “being a good hostess” was expected of me. Fine.

I adjusted my tone.

But I kept one eye on Lila. And both eyes on my humans.

Now, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the elder statesman of the group.

Traveler.

An aging Australian Heeler-Pit mix belonging to my human’s brother-in-law.

Traveler is… how do I say this…

Persistent.

Slow-moving. Slightly disheveled. Always lurking.

He is not my type.

But I do enjoy teasing him.

So there you have it.

A baby Parti Yorkie.
A suspicious Chihuahua.
A wandering Heeler-Pit.
And me—holding it all together.

They may visit.

They may stay.

But let’s be clear about one thing.

This is my turf.

And every time one of them marks it…

I squat like it’s hot and take it right back.

Because dog families?

They are exactly like human ones

Cartledge Weeden Blackwell III, “Cart,” is a historian and a curator. Blackwell was born in Selma, Alabama. He obtained an undergraduate degree from the College of Charleston and his graduate degree from the University of Virginia. He authored Of People and Of Place: Portraiture in Alabama (1870-1945): Reconstruction to Modernism for the Alabama Chapter of the National Society of Colonial Dames of America (NSCDA). His second book, Of Color and Light: The Life and Art of Artist-Designer Clara Weaver Parrish, is to be published by the University of Alabama Press in the winter of 2025.