who did the baby smile at first?

When I have my first good sniff of the newcomer he’s on the bed, lying on his back, all four of them –parents and grandparents – sitting around trying to be the one who will be rewarded with his first smile.

“There”, says Lady – sorry, Nana – “He smiled, he just smiled, it’s his first smile, and it was for me,” but even I could see it was just wind.

“Actually,” says Man, “Right now he’s looking at me, and he really is smiling. It’s his first smile and it’s for me.”

This is the same Man – sorry Pa – who had, minutes before, been torturing the poor bairn with a poorly sung rendition of The Road to Gundagai. My theory: if the baby is suddenly smiling, it’s only because the singing has stopped.

As for me, I’m resting my chin on the bed, sniffing away. I suppose he’s cute. They seem to think so. But he’s not puppy cute.

I’m also not quite sure what the fuss is about. The baby is already six weeks old. By six weeks of age, I was virtually weaned and on solid food. I was on the way to being toilet trained. I could play with other puppies, leaping and wriggling and tussling, spinning myself high into the air.

This fellow? Nothing. He just lies there, kicking his feet occasionally, and yet you’d think he was some sort of combination of the Dalai Lama and Stephen Hawking.

“Oh, he’s so clever,” says Lady.

“And so handsome,” says Man.

“I think he’s quite spiritual,” says Lady.

“You’re right,” says Man. “Look at the way he’s frowning as if he’s contemplating the universe in its complexity.”

This sort of excessive behaviour is usually a sign he’s read a book.

“Actually,” says the child’s mother, “he’s just doing a poo.” It’s an assessment which I’m pleased to note as it proves not everyone in this family has lost their grip on reality.

While all this is going on, Man keeps turning to me, scratching me under the chin, while constantly repeating “Clancy, you’re handsome too. And you’re clever too. You really are the best dog in the world”.

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He says this about 15 times, combining each compliment for the baby with an equally sized compliment for me. This sort of excessive behaviour is usually a sign he’s read a book. Presumably, in this case, a book with the title like How to Introduce Your Dog to Your New Grandchild, While Making Sure They Don’t Get Jealous and Attack the Baby.

I feel like saying to him: “Mate, you haven’t gone and read another book?”

After all, last time he read a book it was a rather nasty little tome with a title along the lines of How To Stop Your Naughty Dog Digging Holes in Your Lawn – a book which led to much unhappiness, right up to the point where I encouraged him to put it in the bin.

This time around, I merely feel patronised. Jealous? Me? Of this little squirt?

If anything, my problem is terminal boredom. Everyone is still in the bedroom, gathered around The Young Prince. There follows another round of “Was that a smile?“, “I think it was, and it was for me” – all of it from Nana and Pa, with the young parents patiently enduring it all.

Man then starts singing more Gundagai, at which point the young father intervenes and says “that’s enough, Dad”.

I’ve never loved this young man more.

The baby then lets loose a little squawk and is fed instantly, a system which I believe could have wider application in this household.

He also seems to have brought a bit of life to the house. The neighbours come over, bearing gifts. Old friends turn up, sometimes bringing a dog for me to play with.

It’s true he cannot catch balls in the park. And it’s true he is ill-equipped to guard the house from thieves. But that’s OK. I’m here. I can do it.

Back in the bedroom, the young mother picks her baby up from the bed and brings him over to me, so I can have a proper sniff. He smells all milky. The mother, whom I’ve always adored, leans closer and whispers to me: “I need you to guard this baby. Will you always guard him, Clancy?”

I take another big sniff and the little baby looks up at me. He’s not quite ready to smile for the first time – I’m smart enough to know that – but when he does I’m almost certain it will be for me.

Anyway, that’s the news from the city. I hope all is well where you are.

Love Clancy.