My dog, Cricket, Schedules a Performance Review with Me

 Recently, my dog Cricket scheduled a performance review with me.  She wanted to discuss my ability to fulfill my duties as her dog owner (now that I have two kids,) and also the pork tenderloin that was left out on the counter.  Now, I'll be the first to admit that Cricket's life has been hard with the arrival of a new baby and multiple moves, but I still thought her reflections were a little harsh.  Here is a transcript of our conversation:

Cricket:  Thank you for coming in today. Please, have a seat.
Me: What it is that you wanted to talk about?
Cricket: (glancing at the pork tenderloin on the counter) We'll get to that in a minute.  First, I want you to tell me, in your own words, how you think you've been performing as my owner.
Me: (Looking down guiltily) Well, I think I've had a lot of new responsibilities with the new baby, and it's been hard to make sure everyone's needs are met. 
Cricket: I see. And do you think that you've been putting out your BEST WORK in respect to me? 
Me: No, I guess not. 

Cricket: Thank you for admitting that. Now let's get down to business.  It has come to my attention that there is a pork tenderloin, there on the counter. 
Me: Yeah, I know-- I was so tired I forgot to put away dinner last night. 
Cricket: I can see that you are overworked. From now on, I will put away dinner for you. 
Me: That's so thoughtfu--- wait NO, Bad dog. 


Cricket: (Shuffling papers) Okay moving on.  There was the incident in the woods that i think we need to discuss. 
Me: The one with the dead rabbit?
Cricket: MY dead rabbit. You took it away from me.
Me: I didn't want you to get sick. Who knows how it died?
Cricket: I DO! IN MY COLD ICY JAWS OF UNERRING DEATH!
Me: (Looking doubtful) sure....
Cricket: What? You don't think I could do it?
Me: Kill a rabbit? No, you're like, 100 years old. You lack the agility. 
Cricket: AGILITY!??? Didn't you see what I did to the stuffed duck you gave me for Christmas? TOTAL EVISCERATION!
Me: Whatever, you still can't eat that Rabbit.
Cricket: This is unrelated, but can I go in the woods? 
Me: No. 

Cricket: Okay, but I have another complaint. Why won't you let me lick the baby?
Me: I do.
Cricket: In the face. I want to lick his face.
Me: You lick your butt. 
Cricket: Do not!
Me: Do too! You lick your butt almost constantly.
Cricket: You are overprotective. 
Me: ......

Cricket: ......
Me: What are you doing now?
Cricket: (innocently) with what?
Me: Your face
Cricket: I'm begging.
Me: For what?
Cricket: For you, know, any scraps that may have been left out on the counter. 
Me: Cricket no...
Cricket: Big or small.... you know just poor, neglected Cricket hoping for some affection from a once doting dog mom. 
Me: Fine. 
Cricket: Wait really? 
Me: Yeah, fine I'll cut you a piece. 
Cricket: Holy Shit are you serious??
Me: Yeah, why not. Here you go. 
Cricket: Okay, give it here!

(slurp slurp slurp) 

Me: Hey, while you're here, why don't you just sign off on my evaluation?
Cricket: oh, yeah, OF COURSE mom.  
Me: I see you just changed my performance rating to "excellent." 
Cricket: (Still slurping) Oh yeah, you're the greatest Mom.
Me: Thanks Cricket, I love you. 
Cricket: Mom? 
Me: Yes?
Cricket: Can I go in the woods?
Me: No. 

Update: We went in the woods.

MOM- The Cricket Needs a Ride Home.

I have good news and bad news.

The bad news is that Cricket got hurt.

The good news is that I am learning to use a graphics tablet and can tell you about it via crude illustrations.

Our dog Cricket loves going to the grocery store. She doesn't get to go inside the building, but she bravely fortifies herself against this hardship by licking her genitals and smelling the rotisserie chickens while we shop.

A few days ago as we walked back from such an excursion, Cricket suddenly began to hobble.

"MOM" She said "WAIT FOR THE CRICKET."

I looked back and saw something like this:

Cricket was hobbling along on three legs. She couldn't make it all the way home, so I had to go back and get her in the car.

For the rest of the day, she milked her injury for all it was worth. Here is an approximation of her behavior as I chopped food for dinner:

Hey! Oh heeey.....

(not that you care....)

MOM.

And when we fed the baby dinner, Cricket was VERY BAD INDEED.

From Cricket's perspective, here is what her interaction with the baby looked like:

From my perspective, her interaction with the baby looked more like this:

Another unfortunate side effect to her injury was that-- what with her newfound immobility and all-- Cricket finally got a chance to catch up on some deep cleaning she's been meaning to get done.  And yes, by "deep cleaning" I mean "HER RECTUM," which now sparkles like a teenage vampire.

Once this task was completed, Cricket became suddenly affectionate.

THE CRICKET WANTS TO SNUGGLE.  She said approaching my sister, Tori. KISSIE KISS FOR MY FAVORITE AUNT TORI!

"EVERYONE JUST SAW YOU LICK YOUR ASSHOLE CRICKET!" Tori yelled, recoiling.

Don't ask me how--- but somehow we survived the night without throttling The Cricket.  The next day we took her to the vet and were shocked to discover that she actually is pretty hurt.  She tore her cruciate ligament (doggy ACL,) and may have to have surgery.  In the meantime, she's supposed to stay off her leg and take it easy for 3-4 weeks.  She's been killing the time by eating a lot of green beans and licking her asshole  (not that you care...).

The 4th of July is Cricket's Least Favorite Holiday

I love the 4th of July. Any holiday that combines beer, water-sports, and colorful fire is OK in my book.

This year was our first 4th of July as parents.  We did the responsible thing and took our daughter on  her first public skinny dipping excursion*.  Afterwards, we left the party early to get her into bed by eight-thirty. We were sad to leave, but this did mean that we got to spend the evening with our dog, Cricket.  Unfortunately, Cricket cannot attend any July 4th parties because of the proprietary relationship she feels towards all unattended hot-dogs.  She also goes bat-shit when the fireworks start.

* Just to be clear--only the baby was skinny dipping-- we had bathing suits.

I still remember Cricket's first July 4th.  We were at the lake with our family, and had just enjoyed a long and fulfilling day of beer and water-sports. We settled into our lawn chairs to enjoy the town-sanctioned firework displays, and also the amateur firework displays-- which were much more impressive than the ones put on by the town. (It's important to note that this particular lake was located in South Carolina, where roadside firework stands are the largest contributor to the state's economy, and neighbors--while friendly--are somewhat competitive in the area of backyard pyrotechnics.)

The dog was having a blast.  She had gotten to swim in the lake all day, fetch sticks by jumping off the end of the dock, and roll in an unidentified dead fish that had washed up on shore.  You might say that it was the greatest day of her dog life. That's when the fireworks started.  She couldn't understand why everyone was just sitting there when WE WERE UNDER ATTACK! She had no choice--she did what any brave and loyal labrador would do and BOLTED. I think she figured that if someone was going to get shot, it might as well be her parents, who were much slower than her and had been pretty stingy with their unattended hotdogs earlier anyways.

We eventually chased her down and put her in the trailer for the rest of the evening, but that's when we realized that the 4th of July is the one night of the year that Cricket must be indoors.  Usually we heartlessly leave her-- going off to a party while she cowers under the bed alone.  This year was different.  We sat with Cricket and reassured her as the fireworks exploded. Instead of the bed, she cowered under the coffee table-- which we viewed as a great improvement. All in all it was a great evening, full of cold beers, a sleeping baby, and a very grateful dog.  We managed to eat 3 of the 6 hot dogs we brought to the party, which is our best average yet.  Maybe next year, we'll go back to the way things were, going out on the town without the dog.  Or just maybe, Cricket will learn to be brave and then she can go skinny dipping too.

AMAZING BABY COMPLETES FIRST ROLL: The dog is unimpressed.

Millie rolled over yesterday. I KNOW. I don't think I've ever been prouder of anything.  My pride glands are going to explode. This baby is a CHAMPION. I spent the afternoon clearing off shelf space in our family room for her future olympic medals.

Millie has been training for this for quite some time. For weeks and weeks now, she's been taking every opportunity she gets to try and roll over.

• Is mom changing my diaper? I'd better roll over. 
• Is mom trying to put me in my carseat? I know, I'll roll out of it!  
• Uh oh! It looks like mom is trying to put clothes on me.  Time to roll!

This must be how Nastia Liukin's mom felt when her daughter was training for the Beijing games. 

Two weekends ago, we were visiting my sister Kelly and her husband Patrick. What do you think Millie did while we were there?  She fucking practiced rolling over, that's what.  She was SO CLOSE. The four adults just sat around her blanket all night, cheering for her as if we were at a world cup soccer match.  If we had any vuvuzelas at the time, we certainly would had used them.

Meanwhile, there is one member of our family who is unimpressed at Millie's recent accomplishment.   Cricket keeps looking up at us as if to say: "Guys, I can roll over too. I've been doing it FOR YEARS. (Not that you care.)" And then, just to rub it in Millie's face, she rolls over effortlessly again and again on our living room carpet.

It's honestly pretty hilarious.  Here is our baby, working as hard as she can to squeeze out one baby roll, and the dog is next to her on the floor, thrashing around like-- well, like a crazed, attention seeking labrador-- which is exactly what she is.

Is gets worse.  Millie is also starting to enjoy Peek-A-Boo.  So, theses days we spend a lot of time covering our faces and asking in a loud playful voice "Where's Mommy?"

From across the room, Cricket's ears perk up. "I KNOW THIS ONE!" she announces triumphantly, running over for praise and attention.

"Dammit Cricket, get off this blanket!" We say.
"Millie, Where's Mommy?"

"MOM! MOM! Look at me. I found you. The Cricket found you. I found Mommy! The Cricket is a GOOD DOG."

And so it goes.
Poor Cricket.  I'll admit it must be pretty confusing. I hope the baby doesn't take an interest in shaking hands or begging next, or the dog is going to really feel supplanted.  As for Sean and I, we're not too worried.  We know that the dog's feelings will be a lot less hurt when Millie gets old enough to throw cheerios on the floor.  In the meantime, a little competition is not necessarily a bad thing.  If you want to raise an Olympian-- as we certainly are-- then it can actually work in our favor.  So Millie, if you're reading this--WHERE IS MOMMY?  Oh, you can't find her?  That's funny, because I think there's someone else here who can.  And-- I don't want to alarm you or anything-- but I hear she's got a pretty impressive roll...