Everyone Wants To Be Alpha

Old Dog was getting old, so Pixie got a new dog who could learn the family rules and boundaries from Old Dog.  Old Dog immediately established herself as the alpha, and the new dog let herself be the beta.  Angel Doll also got a new dog, who was also willing to submit to Old Dog's alpha status.  Neither new dog, however, was willing to play second beta.

The new dogs established a fight club that even I was afraid of, until finally Angel Doll's new dog packed up and left home, which was heartbreaking for all of us but better than someone getting dead or maimed in a dog fight.

Subsequent research taught us that a male and a female are less likely to fight for dominance than two males or two females, and we didn't want the remaining new dog to be all alone when Old Dog went to the happy hunting grounds, so we picked out a male dog from the animal shelter.

Lefty and The Precious, getting acquainted and approving of Shelter Dog, said, "I thought you said this was a boy."

Shelter Dog was no Jeremy Renner.  He was a girl.

Fortunately, Shelter Dog learned fast that Old Dog was the boss, and wasn't in a hurry to challenge Pixie's pet for dominance either.  But then...

Old Dog went to dog heaven.  Pixie's Pet became alpha.  The Precious was followed home by a stray ("Can we keep it?"), and would you believe, it's another girl.  And while the new girl acknowledges that Pixie's Pet is number one, she's not sure that Shelter Dog outranks her.  Here we go again.

Three Strikes Program

Hunneypunkin's dog thinks he's a house pet.  I think he's not.  And since I'm Caesar of this empire, he's not.  But he's a decent dog and I'm a decent emperor, so I agree to let him visit the great indoors on occasion. I do, however, keep him on the three strikes program.
The dog has a corner of his own in the living room, and that's the only spot he's allowed to be.  We have an old blanket that we spread on the floor in his corner to keep his doggie smell from melting into the carpet, and he does a good job of staying on his blankie (except for that one sly paw that he stretches jusssst off the edge.)  He'll sleep there for hours.  Like the children, he seems to have adapted his version of the Jurassic Park scene--"Don't move.  They won't see me if I don't move.  Then they'll let me stay."
Though he generally seems to be sleeping, he definitely notices if everyone leaves the room.  Then he'll go silently lurking through the house sniffing for people.  It's usually me that he finds...with his velvety and slightly damp muzzle against my elbow while I'm at my computer all thinking I'm alone.  Once I've recovered from a mild heart attack and threatened to send him back outside for leaving his blanket, I never fail to accidentally make eye contact with him, at which point I'm susceptible to his telepathic message, "Llllet meeee staaaay, llllet meeee staaaay," and even though Jedi mind tricks don't work on me because I'm practical and logical, I always choose to llllet himmm staaay.
The three strikes program, however, overrides even the big brown puppy-dog eyes.  It doesn't matter how sweetly the dog stretches out on his blankie, or how adoringly he stares into my face, or how telepathically he begs to stay in the house, the third time the air turns green and people start pulling their shirt collars up over their noses because the dog dropped an SBD, he's out.  Now don't go all animal rights on me, I'd even kick out Jeremy Renner if he floated three air biscuits.