The dog has never seen the baby budge from his blanket, but he's taking no chances. He picks up the bone and drops it further away.

I watch nervously from my La-Z-Boy recliner. The Shar-pei sniffs this newcomer warily, his tail wagging in mechanical ticks. His ears perk up at every cooing sound and his head rises from slumber whenever the baby turns over. I can't be sure if he's protecting the little boy or his own turf.

My wife doesn't want to wait to find out. Since the grandkid came to live with us, she's nagged repeatedly, "You've got to get rid of the Shar-pei -- or at least make him an outside dog."

I've held my ground. The Shar-pei is a run-of-the-house kind of dog and I like it that way. I like the way he naps nuzzled against my chair. I sleep well with him snoring beside my bed. I count on him seeing me to the door when I leave for work and greeting me enthusiastically when I come home.

So when the baby came, I asserted the Shar-pei's rights. "I love you, kid," I said, "but the dog was here first and you're going to have to fit yourself into his space."

I'm distracted for only a moment, but that's all it takes. While the dog sleeps in a cooler room, the baby somehow pulls himself up on his elbows and huffs and puffs his way across the floor. He is happily gnawing the Shar-pei's bone.

"Oh my Gawwwwwwd!" shrieks my daughter.

"He's got that filthy thing in his mouth," my wife wails, her eye for the obvious as keen as ever.

I'm more worried about what might go into the Shar-pei's mouth when he sees what's going on. I leap into action as he hears the commotion and comes bounding into the room.

The dog nervously paces the floor while I wrestle the bone from the baby's determined grip, but makes no move to take matters into his own jaws and needs no restraint. I return his bone, and he dashes off to spend an hour looking for a place to hide the thing while the ladies scrub the baby again and again.

When it's over, I'm back in the La-Z-Boy with a sweet-smelling baby curled up in my arms and a good dog asleep at my feet.

The baby is still but his eyes are open, fixed on the Shar-pei's corkscrew tail twitching enticingly before him.