They're both united, and somehow, I'm the third wheel.

In 2004, as we rolled into September and the Sox were making a run at what would end up being their first World Series win in 86 years, my friend's dog had puppies. We named each and every puppy after someone on the 2004 Red Sox team. Manny, Pedro, etc. Then there was one named Big Papi. He was the smallest of the group, but had the most personality by far!

So naturally, we were a match made in heaven.

He came home and together we watched the Sox reverse the curse and continued to bond over many championships in Boston. We were buddies, pals, besties--that is until she came along. My fiancée, who never had a dog before, entered our lives. At first I understood his excitement. It was someone new. Little did I know it was the beginning of the end.

Soon she would be living with us, and now I see where his allegiances lie. SPOILER ALERT: They're not with me. I could be laying on the floor with approximately six million treats and if she walks in, I no longer exist. *cue sad music*

They snuggle watching movies together. They play together. They hang out. It's NONSENSE.

I don't even know when or how this happened. All I want is my puppy back! My dear little Big Papi! It's that or we have to get rid of the fiancée, I'm assuming. That seems like the only reasonable response, right?

Anyone else ever had this problem?