I don't have a jealous bone in my body. No, not even a jealous cell. Not I.
Then again, let's talk about Pepper the puppy and her love of my husband.
Every morning, Checkered makes his way downstairs to get ready for work. I would like you to believe that I have preceeded him downstairs to make a nutritious breakfast for him, iron his clothing, et cetera. Yes, you go right on and believe that.
Each morning, while the kids and I continue to slumber, Checkered lets Pepper out of her crate and strongly encourages her to go outside. Then he shaves, and a grateful Pepper comes back inside. She patiently waits for him to put his aftershave on, and then she rests her head against his knees.
On Tuesday, I thought I might be jealous. In order to prove that I wasn't, I let Pepper out of her crate after a long night. I sent her outside, and put a little fragrance on. Then I opened the door, and in my sweetest voice called, "Pepper!"
This dog - the one I lobbied to buy, the one I fought with Checkered to buy, the one I cared for and nursed back from the brink of death - this dog came into the house. I slowly reached down to pet her, and this dog ducked away from my hand, ran around me and charged up the stairs to curl up on Checkered's pillow.
The fact that I told Checkered, "Of course that's NOT dog hair on your pillow," is the only solace I have.