Two Christmases ago, my sons and I surprised my wife with her very own beagle. She named him Sox, after the White Sox (my wife is such a good sport, claiming the Sox as her team even then she’s from St. Louis, just because she married me, a die-hard Sox fan).
Even though Sox is, technically, her dog, somehow I’m the one who he snuggles with at night to keep warm, comes whining to when he has to go out, and cowers from when he does something naughty in the house.
Somehow, even though Sox is my wife’s dog, I’m the one that takes him for walks in the pre-dawn hours (most days) and cleans up after him when he’s done something naughty in the house.
Actually, I don’t mind at all. Even though Sox is my wife’s dog, he’s 
He also is a good watch-dog. Sox doesn’t like even squirrels or birds to be in our yard, much less two-legged strangers.
When it gets chilly at night, I’m especially thankful that he likes to snuggle because he’s soft and warm and keeps me warm. Sox is great companion for our family and really is a part of our family.
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