Yay, Moe is 4!
This is definitely a belated birthday post, but none of us have any idea when you were actually born, Moe. Unlike my baby princess, Monty... her birthday is January 23. Aw, Monty. So perfect...
But what about you, Moe? No clue when you were actually born, you little maniac. We think it was at the end of June, but who knows.
In honor of Moe's 4th birthday, whenever it really was, here's how he came to our family and the reason why we don't know his exact birthday...
Back in 2004, my lovely sister (who may or may not read this) was working at a vet's office in Memphis. Dave and I came in town for the 4th of July to celebrate with the fam. At some point early in the weekend, I was driving Dave and my grandma over to my parents' house when my sister called. This was our conversation:
Me: What up.
Carrie: I'm bringing a dog home.
Me: We already have a dog. What do you mean, you're bringing one home?
Grandma: What's happening?
Me: Hang on, Grandma.
Carrie: There's this tiny black puppy at the vet and Doc is out of town all weekend and the puppy is too young and sick to stay there alone. So, do you think mom will mind if we keep him for the weekend?
Me: Um, yes. She'll flip her shit. You know how she is with puppies. She'll want to keep him and send him back all at the same time. It's a very schizophrenic phenomenon.
Carrie: I'm kinda hoping we do keep him. He's adorable.
Me: You can give him to Grandma...
Grandma: Don't give anything to Grandma! What's happening?
Me: Carrie got you a dog.
Carrie: No, I want to keep him myself!
Grandma: I don't want a dog!
Me: This is too easy.
So, we return home to see my mom cradling this tiny black fur ball. He was so sick, he wasn't moving very much and he was very weak. We could tell he was the most loving little thing, despite his fragile condition.
We named him Moe because he was so mopey. (We're a very creative bunch.) Little Moe was apparently abandoned in the ghettos of Memphis and found, near-death, by a police officer who brought the pup to his church. A woman at his church brought Moe to the vet's office and my sister scooped him up and took him home.
So, we ended up keeping him. Naturally.
And here's a story about how we discovered what kind of dog he was...
My mom and I were at PetSmart picking up dog stuff for Moe. As he grew, his features become more distinct and less generic-black-dog. But we still couldn't figure out exactly what he was. So, at PetSmart, I wander over to a rack of "Breeds for Dummies" books.
Me: Ma, come here. I think I found Moe.
Mom: Oh my God! I've been dying to know what he is! Let me see the picture. Oh, wow! That's definitely him. What breed is it?
Me: Okay, but don't curse.
Mom: Why would I cu---
I flip over the book.
Pit Bulls for Dummies.
Mom: Oh, what the fuck. Goddamn it. Fucking shit.
Me: Well done.
So there you have it. We accidentally adopted a Pit Bull. He is the sweetest, most loving dog ever. He doesn't stop giving kisses (annoying), he cuddles when it's bedtime (adorable) and he lets me use him as a pillow without squirming or anything (awesome). He's still kind of a shithead sometimes, but I think it's because he's a boy. Go figure.
Happy birthday, you little shit.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Yay, Moe is 4!