I know this is difficult for you," I said to the figure sitting sullenly in the corner of the room. "And I have no intentions of trying to take the place of your real mommy. But I do hope that one day we can be friends."

His dark eyes refused to meet mine, and when I motioned him over, he ignored me.

"Come on!" I pleaded. "Not all stepmothers are evil. Look at Carol Brady! The Brady boys thought she was wonderful!"

He snorted in disapproval and left the room. I turned to my husband, David, and said, "I knew when we combined our families there'd be an adjustment, but sometimes I think he'll never accept me."

"Give him time," David said, patting my hand with reassurance. "Or better yet, give him a couple of Milk-Bones."

Second marriages always come with baggage, and my husband's baggage came in the form of a 75-pound canine named Digger.

"What kind of dog is he?" I asked when we were first introduced.

"He's a North American mix-breed short hair," David said.

"Isn't that a mutt?"

"Shh," David said quickly. "He's sensitive."

"It's not like he can hear us," I said. "Come here, Sugar Wooger."

No response. Not even an ear twitch.

"Are you sure he isn't deaf?" I asked. "Come to Karin, Digger Wigger!"

Digger didn't budge, but instead surveyed me with narrowed eyes as if I were a squirrel he'd like to swallow whole.

Time to bring out the big guns.

"Does Digger want a tummy scratch?" I beseeched.

I wasn't used to this kind of aloof behavior from a dog. In fact, the reason I'm a "dog person" is that I expect slobbering, tail-wagging adoration from my pets.

"Digger! I demand that you love me this very instant!"

Digger yawned.

I soon discovered that Digger had his price. I was allowed a brief hug in exchange for a top cut of sirloin. Ground round rated only a quick pat on the head.

I was starting to get a complex. One day, Digger stood beside my desk with his back to me for nearly an hour as if engaging in some sort of silent protest.

"Look at him," I said to David. "He's snubbing me! I think it's time for family counseling."

"No," David said. "This is encouraging. He wants you to scratch him."

"On his backside?"

Yup. It turned out that Digger's sweet spot is his hindquarters.

After I started scratching him there, Digger couldn't get enough. Every time he saw me he would back up to me. I never saw his face any more, just the swish of his tail.

Frankly, I started to feel abused and cheap.

"It's not like Digger loves me," I complained. "He's just using me for a back scratch."

I began to think I would never win Digger over. Then one afternoon, David and I came home after a few hours away. As was his practice, Digger enthusiastically flung himself at David and then, to my surprise, he gave me the same warm greeting.

Hallelujah! The Cold War was over. I knelt down to embrace my stepdog, but before I could throw my arms around him Digger quickly turned around and presented me his rear end for a scratch.

OK. Maybe it was only a dtente, but at least I was making progress.

Augusta resident Karin Gillespie is the author of Bet your Bottom Dollar. She can be reached at www.karingillespie.com.