I’ve been around long enough where it’s probably time to tell the story of how my little family came to be.  Until one or more of them come to their senses, I live with my wife, two daughters, and three dogs.  Since every other living creature in my home is a female, according to my eloquently spoken step father I’m “the only swingin’ dick in the house.”  

So how does an asshole like myself amass a home filled with pussy?  The story can’t be told all at once.  I guess the easiest way to tell it is to start at the bottom and work my way up.

Kloe, is a 10 year old Cocker Spaniel/Shitzu breed we have named “crock -o- shit.”  I believe this breed name has a lot to do with her behavior over the years.  The dog was purchased, as most are, to ensure my access to the interior of a 19 year old girl’s panties.  It kind of worked, but to learn more about that you’ll have to wait until I get to the story about my wife.  After I bought the dog I left it to live at the apartment of the previously mentioned young lady because 1. I was living in a house with 3 other dogs (a Pug that was missing an eye, rib, and nipple, an epileptic Dalmatian, and a Great Dane with hip dysplasia and lactose intolerance) and 2. I hate fucking cocker spaniels.  Upon leaving the mutt at her residence, she assured me that she would be following my strict training instructions  enlisted upon every animal that I’m forced to share a roof with.  After a week of visits it was clear that either she was not following these rules, or she was re-staining her hardwood floors with piss.  At some point during the tense training negotiations, the young lady and I decided to combine households.  Now I’m living with two women, and 4 dogs.  Everything you expect to happen in this situation does.  I’ll save the part about the women for a later blog and let you know the surprising part that relates to this story is that with four dogs, the one running things is an eight pound handicapped pug.  Demon puppy didn’t seem to appreciate the distribution of power so she took matters into her own hands and destroyed the house.  

Now, most does will chew up a couch cushion, a shoe, or maybe the leg of some furniture.  Amateurs.  This dog started a Red Dawn full assault on my life.  She warmed up with items around the house.  She ate the bottom of every door, she soaked every rug in urine, and just in case there was any question about who the culprit was, she would force me to follow her down the hall so I could watch her back up and piss on my pillow.  Next she took out my wallet.  Her first financial attack began with her swallowing an entire pair of panties whole.  The tickling lace caused a constant cough, much like parvo.  Since my roommates dogs hadn’t been vaccined properly, and they were too big for her to manage getting them to the vet, I had to pay the vet to come to the house and give $1500 worth of shots to every dog.  About a month before my wife gave birth to our first daughter, Kloe broke her back.  After spending four years with this dog my wife had become so attached to her that a death at this point could cause problems with the pregnancy.  I checked our saving and we had $3,000.  I told her if it cost a dollar more, we had to put the dog down.  The surgery ended up costing $2995.  Looking back, if we’d eaten a steak dinner the night before I could have saved myself a lot of stress over the last six years.

After the surgery the dog recovered fully and spent the next five years getting her way through a series of hateful acts including but not limited to:  shitting in my shoe, stealing my clothes, barking every 10 minutes after baby’s bedtime, eating bullets, eating money, hiding dead rats in my workshop.  Things went pretty much like this until all one day she just didn’t look good.  She would cough, weez, walk funny, fall down, etc.  The vet said make her comfortable, this is it.  My daughter had just turned five, and a new kid was on the way.  The wife and I decided since the daughter was going to loose a lot of attention with the new baby, it would be easier to do a proactive swap and get a new puppy before the old one kicked off.  So we bought a new dog and the simple act of bringing her home instilled a second wind in Kloe of miraculous proportions.  All symptoms immediately disappeared.  She also found the strength to let me know how much she appreciated our gift of a new dog and a new will to live.  She walked over and shit on my leg.  She was banished outside for a week.  45 seconds after she was let back in, she did it again.  The new puppy is now 100 lbs, the dog who should have been name Falcor refuses to die.

My wife is a sparkling jewel that has risen atop a steaming shit stained pile of white trash.  That’s the first line of the blog I wanted to write at the end of last week.  But I didn’t, at least I didn’t post it.  I wrote it, oh I wrote the shit out of it.  But I didn’t post it because I didn’t want to hurt my wife’s feelings.  Better yet, I didn’t want her to think about the situation that led to the first line of this blog anymore than she had to.  

Five hours after closing two bars in Reno (yes, it’s possible) my wife called to tell me her mother was in the hospital because her brain was bleeding.  Most of her family was telling her it didn’t look good, and she should get up there as soon as she could.  Two hours later I got another call to let me know the bleeding had stopped, but now there is a blood clot in her brain.  Whew, that was close… wait, um, I think.  

Like any sensible husband who’s never been on TV, at this point I’ve changed my flight and heading home.  Within an hour or so, I’m sitting in a leather seat trying to figure out if US Air will catch their mistake of only charging me an extra $500 to change my ticket.  Suckers.  When this thought fades away (who am I kidding, I’m still fuming about that shit), I get another call to inform me, false alarm, she’s fine.  The nurse has explained to my wife that her brain was never bleeding, she never had a clot, she only had a small knot on the back of her head.  Aren’t we happy she’s okay?  Yes, we’re just as happy as we were two days after our house burned when instead of figuring out if we should buy underwear or food first, we were listening to this same woman tell us about her brush with death.  It appears she had a massive heart attack but they said it was okay for her to go home from the hospital.  When my wife got there to pick her up she witnessed her mother arguing with the doctor about the validity of this supposed heart attack.  It appears that death did not touch her.  It didn’t even whisper in her fucking ear.

This is what I have come to know as normal behavior for my mother-in-law.  It’s actually normal behavior for everyone in my wife’s immediate family.  It’s odd that even though the rest of her family lives on the same road, only my mother-in-law’s house trailer has been stricken with an inability to avoid ignorant and sometimes felonious behavior.  Even as I write this I feel sure the idiot in question is attempting to convince someone that with her heart attack, bleeding brain, and lack of my love she probably won’t make it until the end of the year.

There are many more details to this store that infuriate me, but I’m forced to omit them out of respect for my wife.  It amazes me how she was able to escape this vacuous chamber of disrespectful moronic behavior and become the levelheaded wife and mother that she is today.  Her mom has contributed to the ruin of at least 3 lives that I’m aware of, isn’t my wife obligated to inherit at least some of that crazy and pass it on to our daughters?  Shouldn’t she at least fake a hernia surgery?  If she’s hiding the crazy, she’s been doing it for 10 years.  So again, out of respect for her I won’t mention the other issues with her immediate family.  Her grandparents are lovely people so there is no reason to mention that her mother has actually told people I’m going to murder my wife and make it look like an accident.  Every aunt, uncle, and cousin I’ve met have been nothing but gracious towards me and my children so what reason is there to bring up that my wife’s sister allegedly contracted herpes at age 15 while living in an abandoned school bus.  My wife has been the perfect companion for a very long time and because of that I don’t think it’s right to tell the entire world that I’m pretty sure her niece hasn’t been able to walk across a parking lot since age 13 without sucking a dick.  I keep all these secrets to myself, because it’s the right thing to do.