No One Likes A Tattle Tale

My sister called today and before she could say anything, I asked her, "Did you know mom puts the dog and herself down for naps?" She said, "Yes, they're totally cray cray with that dog. I told her she needs a hobby because that's what happens when people retire but have nothing to do - they start sleeping all the time." I'm not sure if that applies to retired dogs, too, but I imagine it does. 

I finally figured out the real reason my mom is out here and it's not nearly as altruistic as we'd thought. She didn't come out here to cook, clean, and love my children for me. She didn't even come out here to get away from my dad. No, whatever the 'official' reason was, I now know she came out to get away from my dad so she can sneak in a new dog while he's not around. 

My parents got their dog, my half-brother Skippy, on another trip out here to "visit us." Most times, when my mom is dead set on something and my dad is merely along for the ride, it goes something like this:
Me: So you guys are getting a dog?
Dad: I don't know what the hell your mom is doing. We're not getting a dog. 

This as we were all piled in the Suburban, driving 45 minutes away to go look at a dog that - guess what? - became their plus one on the plane ride back home. 

My dad's head-in-the-sand standpoint is one my sister and I have heard for years, such as:
"We're not selling this house." (They did.) 
"We're not going to live up north." (They did.)
"I'm not building an attached garage on this house. (He did.)
"We're not getting a dog." (Um, hello? Did.)
"We're not selling this house and moving again." (They did and they did.)

Now she's spending an awful lot of time on her tablet looking up dogs and telling me how cute they are and calling them by their names like they're besties. "Trisha, wouldn't we have so much fun with Oscar?" Having never personally met this Oscar myself, I absolutely doubt we'd have so much fun. I have no clue what kind of dog this Oscar might be. He may be a Republican or a chunky peanut butter kind of guy, and that shit just don't fly around my house. Also, his name is Oscar, which is a really stupid name, so he's already had a hard life and do I really want to invest in this? 

Sometimes she bypasses any pretense of talking to me altogether and just sits and schemes with my half-brother Skippy. I hear her in there whispering things like, "Wouldn't it be great to get you a little brother?" I want to tell her that first, Skipper can't talk back no matter how you phrase the question, and second, that's really not how you get baby brothers. I know because she gave me the book on where babies come from when I was young, and I took it to school and showed all my friends and then got in trouble when the teachers found out. They sent it home with me in a brown paper bag like how Playboy magazines used to be wrapped up, which I was supposed to take directly to my parents. Of course THAT got thrown right out the bus window (the bag, not a Playboy, I didn't have one of those and I'm sure the teacher would've kept that if I did) along with the attached note explaining all of the "concerns" my actions caused. I guess that makes me a litterbug AND the schoolhouse perv, but I was only 9 or 10 so those records are sealed anyway.

After hearing about all the minglematchdog.com profiles of these potential siblings (I'm not even sure if they're going to be MY potential siblings or my half-brother Skippy's potential siblings), I finally told her if she doesn't stop looking at dogs online I'm gonna do what any rational concerned adult daughter would do when her newly-retired aging mom starts acting out: I'm calling my dad and telling on her. She knows I'll do it, too, because I was the biggest tattle tale EV-AHHH when I was younger. Just ask my sister how much of a jackass narc I was when we were young (in our early 20s). 

She then came in and informed me that my half-brother Skippy is so spoiled because she's holding him in her arms like a baby and she thinks he's looking down on my dogs like he's royalty and they're peasants. I said I think he's looking down at them like, "Hey, help me get down so I can play with you and the crazy lady will stop holding me like a baby," but apparently I don't speak dog so I wasn't translating it right. 

Realizing she no longer had a willing audience (and by willing I mean willing to pretend to hear what she hears when her dog talks to her), she and my half-brother Skippy (extremely exhausted from being carried around all day) went to take a nap, just like all old people and dogs are supposed to do. Whether it's a sign of impending retirement doom as my sister warned or not, I still felt this was a wise choice. Plus, as far as royalty goes in this house, only one top dog can sit on THAT throne, and it's the bitch writing this blog.