And so it begins.

"Is that all you got, old man?"

The Senn male is a proud species. Always one to stand his ground no matter the adversary. Never flinching. Never backing down.

Now, when that adversary is another Senn male, you can imagine the spectacle – two bull moose facing off in a clearing, hooves stomping in the dust, antlers shaking from side to side, neither willing to give an inch.

Such was the scene Saturday night when I settled in on the green couch to give Hugo his bottle. Hugo does not like his bottle. He detests it. Classless, common, and nothing more than an irritating speed bump on the way to Kimberly's breast.

I've tried and failed to give him a bottle on multiple occasions. But tonight I was determined. He needs to take the bottle, afterall. It's good for him, it's good for me, and it's great for his mom. For the first half hour, I was supportive and encouraging. "You can do it, Hugo. There you go. That's my man. You're doing great."

Of course he wasn't doing great, quite the opposite. Milk poured down his chin and quickly saturated his collar. So I decided in the second half-hour to try another tactic. That of friendly foe. Kind competitor. My encouraging words turned to quiet challenges: "I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you. I will outlast you. I live here, Hugo, I pay the rent. I have nowhere to go, so you wanna dance? I can dance all night."

I cannot, it turns out, dance all night. After an hour I gave up and Kimberly came over, taking Hugo in her lap. And that's when it happened:

He gave me a giant smile. Not a "thanks for trying" smile. No, it was the "I own you, old man" smile. But it wasn't just that, it was the stare down. His eyes followed me as I crossed the room and finally left. It wasn't the stare of an interested infant, but the eye of a victorious man. A welterweight who knew that he just went toe-to-toe with a heavyweight and won in the decision.

Hugo Senn, you won that round. But you're not the only Senn man in this house. I'll be back.