When I met my husband, Jim, I found the man of my dreams. He was a fellow journalist, a divorced father of two and a beautiful human being. But he came with Eddie, a rescue dog who peed outside the bedroom door the first night I stayed over. “He’s never done that,” Jim said, mystified.
I paid no attention whatsoever to the incident, but I should have. Love blinded me to the conniving manipulator behind the wagging tail. Eddie hated me from Day 1. He acted like a jealous mistress and became an extra tension in my blended family. We tried to get rid of each other but, more than ten years later, Eddie is still with us. Age has softened both of us, but I’m still convinced he tried to ruin my marriage.
I wrote “Stepdog” as a cautionary tale — never underestimate the dog.
As a newspaper reporter committed to accuracy and fairness, I gave Eddie a chance to respond.
“Woof!,” he said.
Thank you, Eddie. Off you go!
Now, on to my side of the story.
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