Well, she is the third. And she is a quadraped for at least another week or so until she gets this walking thing down pat. Plus she's in that stage where everything goes in her mouth, so she will try hard to clean the floor with her pincer grasp and open mouth. I suppose I should be grateful that she doesn't lick the floor.
Her brothers, especially Alec, treat her like a pet as well. They fight over her relentlessly, "It's my turn with Dahlia," says Alec as he grabs her arms. She protests, not liking to be treated like a doll/dog. "No it's my turn," says Miles as he woos her with a strawberry that might as well be a doggy bone.
I even treat her a bit like a poodle, in my fetish for dressing her in the perfect outfit. But she draws the line at hair bows. Every time I put one in her scant reddish fuzz she takes it out.
Being compared to a dog would surely not offend her. Doggy is one of her first words and she will bolt towards one given any opportunity. Neighboring the boys' dojo is a dog grooming place, and Dahlia who isn't even 14-months old knows exactly how to get there from inside the dojo. It's hard to stop her. She scoots out the door onto the sidewalk and without hesitation turns left and walk-crawls two doors down to the doggy place, saying Doggy Doggy Doggy the whole way. When we get there she indicates that she wants me to pick her up so she can see the dogs. And when I do she tries to reach over the little wall to grab them.
Maybe one day when we bite the bone and buy a real dog she'll lose her status as the family dog, or probably much sooner when she can tell us in more than baby words that she's a person to be reckoned with. But certainly, one of the first things she will tell us also is that she wants a dog in our house 24/7, preferably in her room. And maybe, since neither she nor her brothers will let me put bows in their hair, we'll get a dog who will.
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