We believed Max, our golden retriever, was territorial when he kept barking at the nanny. Maybe he was envious. We even considered rehoming him. The night I reviewed the surveillance video, I found something that made me queasy. Max wasn’t acting wrong. He warned us.

Life was nice before. After my daughter Lily was born, it was like the universe opened up and filled me with brightness I didn’t realize I needed.

I thought I would be a man who “tolerated” parenting. I planned to attend the important events and let Emma handle the rest. It turns out I’m a weakling.

One gurgle from the infant melts me.

Diaper changes? No issue. Midnight meals? Bring it. I was completely engaged.

Emma and I tried for years. Many years.

Specialists, testing, and long nights of cautious hope and anguish. When we were pregnant, we had just begun discussing adoption. Indeed, we were thankful. We didn’t waste any time.

Once Lily came, everything was great. Nearly perfect.

Only Max, our golden retriever, made me think.

He was always the kindest dog. The type of dog that would welcome the mailman like an old buddy, wagging his tail so vigorously it might knock over furniture. Loyal and kind, he liked kids. He joined our family when we rescued him a few months after we married.

After Lily returned, he changed.

It was first blamed on adjustment. He vigilantly trailed Emma like a secondary tail. When she put Lily in the crib, Max lay next to her, watching her like a sentinel.

I quipped, “Perhaps he thinks she’s a puppy,” to lighten the situation. Emma seemed apprehensive.

“He doesn’t even sleep anymore,” she muttered. “He watches constantly.”

Our goal was to find it cute. Max guards. Max, protector.

When Sarah arrived, everything changed.

Sarah was our babysitter. We recruited her when sleep deprivation made us zombies. She was suggested, had a soothing voice, a nice smile, and was terrific with babies. The first time she held Lily, she cooed so softly Emma cried.

But Max? The sight of her made him despise her.

The first day, he hissed at her entry. That snarl wasn’t warning. Deep and throaty, it said “I don’t trust you”. It was possible he was bewildered by the new presence.

He then barked and lunged between her and the crib everytime she attempted to take up Lily.

He once bared his teeth. It shook us.

Sarah sent frantic updates throughout shifts.

“Hey, Max is barking nonstop again.”
“He won’t let me diaper Lily.”
“Please kennel him next time.”

Emma and I felt conflicted. We barely got four hours of sleep, so Max’s agitation was the last thing we needed.

Previously, he was never aggressive. What if anything snapped?
Suppose he wounded Sarah.
Or worse, what if he hurts Lily?

Suddenly, the unimaginable happened.
Perhaps Max needed a new home.

Love that dog. Our family includes him.
And the thought of moving him made me feel dreadful. The guilt was excessive.

We devised another solution. Something to protect our kid and Sarah without giving up Max.

That Friday, Emma and I went out. To cleanse our brains.
We had supper at our favorite burger joint.
Sarah agreed to spend a few hours with Lily.
Max was in the laundry room. Our gate was blocked at her request.

No problems till my phone vibrated on the table throughout our lunch. The screen displayed Sarah’s name.

Picked up.
“James!” she wailed. “Max attempted to attack me! I picked up Lily and he went crazy!”
Lily cried in the background. Out of breath, Sarah.
Emma was already taking her handbag.

Our speed home was insane. Sarah approached us in the main room, holding Lily tightly and pale.
Max sat statue-like behind the baby gate, ears down.
“He lunged at me,” Sarah said. “I feel unsafe around him.”
Her words were hardly audible as I nodded.

It felt wrong.
I knew Max. Knew his heart. He would snarl, bark, and even obstruct others. But lunge?
Just sit down, I instructed Emma. Need to check something.”
I took the security monitor from the hallway closet. A camera was in the living room. Mostly to watch the baby while we were away. The nighttime feed was accessed.

Forward to Sarah’s arrival.
She greeted Max cautiously as she entered the room. The bassinet held Lily. Sarah carried a little gray backpack.
We’d noticed the bag previously but ignored it.
But then I saw her peek over her shoulder, remove it, and hide it under the sofa.

My heart accelerated.
She grabbed a pill from her backpack. Sleek. Black.
It was placed on the coffee table, an app launched, and the camera was pointed toward the nursery.
I leaned in.
Sarah livestreamed.

I first assumed I was seeing things incorrectly. But suddenly hearts, emoticons, and scrolling remarks appeared on the device.
Sarah smiled and mumbled hello at the television. She pointed the iPad into the nursery as she had done it before. A title was written at the bottom of the stream: “Nanny Nights: Part 12.”

Emma exhaled sharply behind me.
Sarah cooed like an influencer as she discussed Lily’s sleep, eating, and napping regimen. The caption said, “Night routine with Baby L  #NannyLife”.

Felt nauseous.
Our daughter’s bedtime was public info.
We trusted this lady with our baby. She aired her every step to outsiders. Who watched? How many? And why?

The worst came next.
In her crib, Lily stirred. A little cough. A sharper one follows. Under the cover, her legs kicked and she wheezed horribly.
Choking, she was.

Then Max stood up promptly.
He prodded the crib with his nose. Barking ensued.
Sarah did not respond. She scrolled her tablet with AirPods, zoning out.
Max barks loudly. Climbed the rug. Nudged blanket again.
He then snapped his jaws in the air near Sarah’s leg. Do not bite. She was startled.
It works.

Sarah quickly removed her earphones, stood up, and ran to the crib. She hugged Lily and massaged her back, and our daughter wept after a time.
Sarah clutched her, terrified. Not only Lily’s fear.
Max phobia.

Her next move made me cringe.
Still clutching Lily, she left the nursery. Close the door. And locked.
Max was confined.

I reclined, numb. My hands shook.

Later that night, Sarah departed, and I viewed the film again. Twice.

I saw Max’s barks, snaps, and attempts to assist.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t hostile.

He aimed to rescue my daughter.

Sarah returned the following morning with her lovely voice and gray knapsack over one shoulder. Her unaware of our knowledge.

Emma opened the door with a printed footage screenshot.

Sarah froze at the screenshot, I recall. She just said nothing. She knew she had erred and could do nothing to fix it.

She departed after turning back.

After the event, we reported her stream, complained, and called the agency. Her legal fate is unknown, but I know one thing. Max is more than family to us.

We had him wear a silver tag with “Lily’s Guardian,” etched on it.
He still sleeps beside the crib. The only difference is we won’t force him out.
We let him look over her since we know him. He protects our daughter. He shares our affection for her.

I’m pleased we employed Sarah before. Because her actions revealed Max’s value. With him at our side, we can relax.