Needless to say that our lives changed when the baby came. Having a newborn to take care of is a lot of work and it’s the reason why I don’t know if I want to have another baby or just get another dog instead.

You laugh, but I’m on the serious.

Besides, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go without the booze and the pills for another year and a half. (that’s pregnancy + nursing, people. My math skills aren’t that fucked.)

Not only did I have a destroyed vaginal (thanks Megkathleen) but I was sooo tired. Look at my eyes:

See? Tie-yid.

That’s what a baby does for you, but I was also blissed out. That’s what Oxytocin from breastfeeding does for you and you barely notice how different life has suddenly become. You’re just trying to keep the little sucker alive and for fuck’s sake how many diapers do these kids go through in a day!?!

And Mister and I weren’t the only ones whose lives changed drastically. You’re looking at a picture of two little dogs who should be holding on to their hats because shit is about to get interesting.

The cute little teddy bear dog on the left in the picture is Martha. She was my baby before the baby. I used to carry her around on my hip just like a baby and she’d put her arms around my neck and rest her head on my shoulder. She was a sweet dog, but also a crazy little vicious asshole. You don’t hear about her because about one year ago today-ish, Martha turned on Girlfriend and shredded her face with her teeth and claws and left her with a permanent scar on her cheek. We had to feed her to a pack of angry Rottwilers give her to a little old lady with no grandchildren.

But Alice is there standing sentinel like she always does because she’s a good egg.

Moments after this picture was taken, the following doggie conversation took place:
Martha: Have we determined what this thing is yet?
Alice: Maybe you should sniff its ass. Maybe there’s a clue there.
Martha: They won’t let me near the thing. What the hell is it?
Alice: I don’t know. It kind of freaks me out though. I might hide until it goes away.
M: I think we should pee on its stuff, you know, to send a message.
A: You do that. I think I’ll go hide under the bed.
M: Maybe I’ll try to eat it.
A: That’s a stupid idea. How do you even know it’s edible. You do what you want and let me know how it turns out.
M: Maybe I’ll just wait until it’s vulnerable and then I’ll kick its ass!
A: Ummmm, sure. Good luck.

See? Good egg.

She wanted no part in Martha’s evil scheming.

And now poor Alice takes a lot of punishment from the baby and if there’s anyone out there considering getting a dog or a cat for their little one I urge you DON’T DO IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL HER SMALL CREATURES! Alice gets her ass handed to her all day long, every day. But she puts up with it, god bless her, because she doesn’t want to go and live with Martha and also because Girlfriend usually leaves a trail of yummy treats behind her.

And I know Girlfriend adores her some Alice burger (that’s what I call her. Alice burger. shut up.) because when we drop Alice off at the groomer, Girlfriend goes coo-coo for coco puffs and hits and kicks and cries because she doesn’t want to leave her with strangers.

“Mommy! You’re disgusting, you’re A Disgusting! I want Alice! Aaaaallliiiccceee!”

So here, I leave you with this: a story of compromise, a story of love:

Isn’t mine an exceptionally large and beautiful pussy?

Don’t you just want to touch it?

I call it Benny.

AKA, The Benster, Sir Benevere, Big Guy, Big Boy, Big Buddy, Big Ben, Big Man, Big Kitty, Mr. Big, b-b-b-Benny and the Jets, Pussy Galore, Asshole, Benjamin J. Kitty, Kitty Boy, Wookie Boy, The Boss Man, Benito and Big Pussy.

Benny’s hobbies include eating copious amounts of Iams for Weight Control cat chow, sleeping, pooping, sleeping, talking smack to the neighbor’s cat through the window, sleeping, shedding alloverthefuckingplace, sleeping, chewing up my houseplants, eating anything that is ribbon or ribbon-like and costing us thousands in vet surgery bills to remove it from his enormous digestive system, and sleeping.

Impressive isn’t he?

And don’t worry.

It’s not Crissy’s Cat Week.

This is not so much a post about my dog, but a post about how I am better than you. And here’s why. I am a very loving pet owner who feels that it is important that my Alice doesn’t feel left out when I’m reading. And so I read to her. But for the purposes of this post however we will from herein refer to “reading to Alice” as the thing that makes me better than you.

And it makes me better than you because it would never even occur to most people to do the thing that makes me better than you. A dog has intellectual needs as well as needs for food and shelter and merciless beatings with sticks and things, and if you haven’t been doing anything to nurture your pet’s innate need for good literature you should be neutered and then crated without your supper.

You see, what my highly evolved mind can comprehend is that being a dog is difficult because they do not have thumbs and so cannot hold a book. And what I also know, and you do not, is that they have trouble reading in English as Doggiean is their original language and not English. And Alice loves it when I do the thing that makes me better than you. I know this because she looks at me as if to say “do the thing that makes you better than everyone, mama.”

And then I do the thing that makes me better than you.

And everyone. Because I’m cool like that. And because nothing is too good for my Alice. And you know what makes me so, so, so much better than you? I turn on my electric blanket for her so she doesn’t catch a chill while I read her such classics as Woof and Punishment by Fido Dogstoyevsky, the translated version of course, or The Call of the Wild by Jack Russell London Terrier.

You see I don’t do the thing that makes me better than you for myself. Oh, no no. I choose things I feel will be of interest to her. Because I’m selfless and kind. And you are not. You don’t need to tell me what a wonderful thing I do for Alice because I already know.

Because I’m better than you.