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Before our first baby was born, my husband and I were the the best dog parents.

Parker, our 100 lb, 2 year old retriever, was living the life. He got walks in the bush every day, and belly rubs on the floor after supper. I even made homemade dog treats for him, just because I could. He's obedient, beautiful, and super happy-go-lucky. He's also a loyal trooper with incredibly high tolerance. We treated him a little less than perfect over the last few months.

It's true what they say about dogs having a sixth sense about things. Parker was my shadow for my nine months of belly. He moved to the floor on my side of the bed for sleeping at night, something my husband still gripes about, and regularly wedged his massive body in front of me between the couch and the coffee table while I watched television, not caring that there's a houseful of space to stretch out in. He'd follow me into the kitchen while I ate cereal in the middle of the night.

He was in heaven when I was a week past my due date and, desperate for anything to make the time go by, I'd pile myself into a winter coat every day, bursting at the seams by that point, and shuffle down the road while he ran through the snow banks and ate sticks. He didn't care what was giving me indigestion that day, or that I could barely bend over to take my boots off afterward or that I then needed a nap to recover. He loved every second of it.

I even took Parker to the groomer during that week of overdueness. It was his first time, and he loved it. They fed him cookies and he was the centre of attention. He was so good.

Parker became the last to eat, the last to pee, and belly rubs were reclassified to 'treat' status.

Then, in what seemed like a flash, this tiny, screaming thing took Parker's place on our priority list and he got downgraded to somewhere waaay below the bottom rung. Parker's walks outside came to a screeching halt, and he sometimes went without food because we forgot to feed him, although on luckier days, he'd eat supper twice.

My parents quickly fell in love with Parker when he was a puppy. My Mom referred to him as “her Granddog,” and he was the centrepiece news at Christmas that year. She even had a brag book for Parker, showing him off to all of her friends. Of course our beautiful baby quickly upstaged the poor dog, and although my parents still give Parker lots of love, now he gets in a bit more trouble when he tracks mud through their house or puts his head in their laps after he's been swimming.

Parker became the last to eat, the last to pee, and the last to get a bath if he needed it. Belly rubs were reclassified to 'treat' status since they only happened when either of us had the energy to roll around with him on the floor after our baby went to bed for the night. I'll even admit that I've traded in a photo of Parker on the face of my Blackberry for the cutest picture of our baby.

The packing list for trips to the cottage used to include everything we thought Parker could possibly need. We took his bowls for eating, balls for chasing, his mat for sleeping, and dog bones for after supper chewing. Now he's lucky if we remember to bring his food, and he's quickly losing free reign of the space in the back of the car because of all the baby stuff.

Despite all that, Parker kept me company for every nighttime feeding, just over four months worth. My husband would leave early for work most mornings, and instead of seeing him to the door, Parker would stay sleeping on the floor beside me until I dragged myself out of bed, bleary eyed, to tend to the next baby task.

One time, just before dawn, I got up to feed the baby for what seemed like the zillionth time. I thought I'd be a nice guy for a change, and let Parker out for a pee first. That's nice, right? I knew he'd love to rummage around in the fresh winter air for a bit while I fed our baby, only I forgot that he was out there, and went back to bed. I remembered him three hours later. I got up and ran to the front door and found him curled up on the porch in the ridiculous Canadian winterish sub-zero weather conditions, patiently waiting for someone to let him in. He got up, tail wagging away, just happy to see someone. No hard feelings.

What we have learned is that Parker's needs are simple. He thrives on food, love and exercise, and as long as he gets some of all of those elements every day, the rest doesn't matter that much to him. I suspect many dogs are not that much different if you pay close attention. Maybe there's a lesson lurking there.

(photo by Jen RIghtmyer)

We are proud of the dog that we've raised. Parker knew that there was something special going on and he still does. He has never shown one sign of jealousy. He hasn't chewed the couch or peed on the floor, and weirdly, he instinctively knows that he's too big to be too close to the baby. He has never laid one paw on any baby blanket on the floor, whether the baby happens to be lying on it or not. He's quite protective too, and has taken to howling when the baby cries, as if to make sure that we know something is wrong.

Our baby has just noticed Parker and now laughs at him when he runs by or rolls around on the floor. He's most interested in his furriness and loves to grab handfuls when he can, and Parker just lays there. I know now they are going to be the best of buds.

Parker, you're a good dog. We love you.