Pet Love

A few days ago, I posted this.

It was a very heartfelt and poignant post illustrating the very intimate nature of name calling within large families and how such symbolism serves as a mechanism..

Oh, never mind.

You’ll have to read it for yourself and decide what the ham sandwich it was really all about. Click here now.

So anyway, some feelings were hurt because I left out a few vital members of our tribal unit.

This is the make-up post.
My hope is that it heals all wounds and repairs the bridges I haveth burnethed.

We adopted them in November.

Here is their story.

GONG.

[Name that show]

 

I call this one:

Henry

Worther

dude

Bro-ha-ha

butter-cup

or brotha.

He calls me:

Me-ow-me

you don’t look like my momma, but you’ll do

and

I like fresh water, please.

****

I call this one:

Walter

Walter Wilson

Skunk

Cat-dog

knock it off

or

bad self.

He calls me:

murr

that’s my spot

you thought you were in charge

or gimme a smooch or I’ll nibble your ear lobe.

****

In summary:

Sir, Henry

Henry, for short.

****

Walter Wilson

Walter, for short.

****

Sir, Cries A lot

Cry baby, for short.

****

Mr. Bad To The Bone

b-b-b-b-b-b-ba-bad, for short.

[Name that song]

Brotha’s from another motha’s.

We recently (Oct. 2011) adopted two puppies. Had I not married a practical man, I would adopt countless more.

This here is Ozzy.

Also known as Oz

Ozball

Ozwald

and bad dog.

Meet Apple.
Also known as Apple-teenie
Apple Teenie-tiny
Apple Crisp
Apple Dumpling
and
BAD APPLE

And this concludes the getting to know you portion of the O’Brien Bunch Tribe.

Until I have something else ridiculously worthless to say again this week.

Thank you for wasting 3.25 minutes of your life looking at my cats and dogs.

You make me want to sing show tunes.

The End.

P.S. Please don’t tell the pirate I blogged about the cats and dogs. It’s strictly prohibited. He’ll make me walk the plank.