We had once visited a farm when our son was very small. On this particular visit we made friends with a tiny little black and white piglet named "Oink" who was very much the runt of his litter. Griffin was instantly smitten and decided right then and there that a little pig would be the perfect house pet (I personally thought it would be pretty cool too, but as a parent married to another parent who thought otherwise, I wisely kept these sentiments to myself). No amount of gentle explanations of the reality of such a situation could dissuade Griffin from his firm belief that a pig is no different than a dog, especially that a) a pig does not stay three pounds for long, b) pigs as a general rule do not live in the same house as their people family c) a full-grown pig sleeping in your bed with you like the family dog would most likely result in broken bed, broken bones or completely suffocated child, d) a 450 pound adult pig thundering up and down the front stairway would spell nothing less than catastrophe for anyone unfortunate enough to be caught either ascending or descending said staircase at the same time as the pig, or e) the cat and the dog would both need extensive therapy to recover from the shock of sharing their quiet home with a smelly, aggressive animal the size of a small car.
And then my husband had his own set of issues regarding pigs-as-pets. As both an elected and appointed official in several different positions within our town government, and already having a wife who he considers often far more eccentric than any of the other political wives in town, he was rather against adding anything more to our lives that would only reinforce the notion that I wasn't normal. When still attempting to counter Griffin's arguments for a pig with, "How would the pig feel when the dog goes for a walk and the pig has to stay home alone?" our son replied that the pig could be walked on a leash right along with our dog. To which my husband turned to me and asked if I would actually walk the pig on a leash down our street and I said, "Sure, why the hell not? The pig would need to get some exercise." At which point my husband decided that heretofore all pig discussions were permanently closed. Or as he put it to me, "On top of everything else, I would rather not be known in town as "the Pig Lady's husband."
Aug 18, 2006
This is Griffin and George (George is the little one on top). George is a hen. When she was just a chick we thought she was a little boy (we have never claimed to be able to sex a chick accurately) so we named her George, but when she turned out to be a little girl we felt bad that we had given her such an ugly name. After much thought we renamed her Emmaline George as at least the first half was a nice, feminine name for such a pretty girl. In her four years on this planet, we've only ever called her Emmaline a handful of times, usually when she's being a very naughty chicken and requires the use of two full names for more emphasis when being scolded. But the original name stuck, and she's always been just "George". She comes when called by name, demands constant attention (and nearly as constant feeding), actually enjoys laying in the sun with one of her people like this (usually Griffin is the only one of us with enough slacker-time to indulge her whims) and she would gladly peck out your eyes for her own bowl of french vanilla ice cream.
Aug 17, 2006
I want a chihuahua, but my husband wants nothing to do with a dog that does a really spot-on impression of a sewer rat. Or for that matter a high-end department store cosmetics counter sales girl (although that would imply that my future chihuahua would be a) a snotty, condescending bitch and b) prone to wearing ridiculously excessive amounts of ridiculously expensive makeup prominently placed to highlight her already razor sharp rodent-like features). My husband wants a mistress, but I, being your standard-issue female say that is utterly and completely out of the question. However, he feels we could "come to an agreement" on this, with each of us making the other wildly happy. And even though satisfying both of our desires would be an expensive prospect (with his mistress coming in well above the cost of even an extremely well-bred specimen of dog), I somehow think I'd be getting the very short end of the stick as it were. For now, we've both agreed that I can ogle all the little dogs I want out on the street, but if I call one over or approach one and pet it, he gets to do the same to any women he thinks are as enticing as all those little dogs are to me. What's a girl to do?