A little over ten years ago, I issued an ultimatum, "We can have a baby or we can get a puppy, it's your choice."
Even at the time I think I knew that it was horribly childish, but I just needed something to take care of so badly that it was eating me alive. (Porterhouse was an angel, but she took care of herself.)
Because Sweet Husband is a sensible man--and because we were both in college still and in no position to have children--he chose option puppy. And that is how Moe came to live with us.
Before the kids, he was our baby. In the past few years he's reverted to the status of dog.
But while he's caused more than his fair share of expense and inconvenience and heartbreak, he's also kept vigil with me through two pregnancies worth of insomnia, taught the Kid many lessons about life and love, and protected us from the mailman every single day. He's not a good dog by any stretch of the imagination, but he is ours.
Happy birthday silly Moe-moe-head.