...and Fancy, my cousin Karyl's dog, a sweet-tempered Westie, who we are dogsitting until she recovers from her stroke:
Sassy, bless her heart, has been an only puppy all of her life, and she feels a sharp threat at the invasion of Fancy, who, bless her heart, just wants to play.
And thus the battle lines are drawn. Fancy prances up to Sassy, tail wagging, and tries to kiss Sassy's nose. Sassy turns her head in disdain. Fancy comes up behind the older, somewhat larger dog, intending to be less direct, and Sassy snarls. But bring out table food, and the uneasy truce is gone, as Fancy sits up and begs perfectly, and Sassy barks sharply, then crawls on my unsuspecting lap, to show that little white trespasser whose girl I am.
Dad and I are constantly torn between scolding and cracking up.