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I have been receiving a few mopey emails from The Mom of late. L’il Sis is flying the coop, and taking with her The Mom’s primary source of entertainment. I am not referring to the MacBook that L’il Sis sometimes sets The Mom up with so she can ‘watch her stories’ (i.e. go on a Netflix bender). I refer to The Pig.

The Mom has rarely been without a dog. I believe there were a few years in which no hound of any kind graced The Mom’s tiled floors. Without fail, every email I recieve from The Mom, there is mention of The Pig’s latest (mis)adventures. The Mom will, of course, bemoan such things.

You’ll never guess what The Pig did today, she’ll lament. She got into the garbage, ate an entire bag of flour, peed on the carpet, and then ate something foul on our walk.

From anyone else, this would be the straw that breaks one’s back. For The Mom though, this is high entertainment. Her tone is dry, and if you’re not used to it, you’d be thinking, Right, best send wine immediately. But not if you know The Mom. If you know her you can imagine her grin, imagine watching her as she tries to hold back tears of laughter.

I don’t know if it’s because of us, her unusual children, or what, but The Mom is wildly impressed with creatures in her care trying to outdo themselves in misdeeds. Even when my emails aren’t up to scratch, and by that I mean don’t contain enough tales of ridiculous mayhem and adventure, I’ll get a message from her asking if I’m unwell, or if I’ve been made a zombie. Truly, she thrives on chaos and hilarious deeds of the worst kind.

I believe I’ve mentioned here on this blog, that when one lives at The Mom’s the rent’s free, but you have to pay your way. And the only payment The Mom’s interested in having (beyond lottery-sized cheques) is laughter. If you can make her laugh, you can stay for as long as you like.

I remember when we went to pick up The Pig. It was during my tenure at The Mom’s and I did not relish the drive to Barrie (a mere three hour’s drive). I felt my presence was not necessary. But The Mom was keen at that time on getting me out and trying to get me to ease my way back into adventures. This was, of course, during The Crohn’s Flare. So small adventures where no eating was involved were the sort of thing she was on the look out for.

Off we went, me, The Mom, and L’il Sis. The Pig, who at the time was called Maggie, and still is, but The Pig is just funnier so that’s what we call her, was living with some other beagles, in the front room of some beagle-rescue woman’s house. L’il Sis was immediately smitten with The Pig, and The Mom was thrilled by the idea of a long car-ride with her daughters, to select a dog. Almost instantly, The Mom took to The Pig. Began doting on her, trying to impress her, and generally become The Pig’s Number One Person. That The Pig would be L’is Sis’ dog was not an issue. The Mom is always The Mom, and hence her status amongst all members, animal or child, is assured.

The Mom has, over the years, gone above and beyond for Piggie. Happily. Welcomed her home from her spleen removal surgery with bunting and everything. Participated in birthday parties, made certain The Pig has a nice Christmas gift. In other words treated her as one of her own, which is of course how all pets should be treated.

Without a dog at her heel I know The Mom will be bereft. Her emails to date are proof enough. I have tried to cheer her up by reminding her that I’ll be home for my summer visit in a few short weeks, and will do my best to fill the role of resident needy pet and noisy house mate. To no avail. I may be loud and needy, but I’m not a dog, and I’m certainly not The Pig. I can’t pull the kind of faces Piggie does, and when I eat an entire jar of peanut butter, The Mom is not amused, instead she goes out to buy more toilet paper.

I can try, but I – nor can anyone – replace The Pig. I hope she enjoys her new home with L’il Sis which by all accounts is lovely. But the Mom will miss her. Having said that, I hear that already, on the first day, The Pig has been entrusted to The Mom’s care.

I fear I may be roped into some kind of a Pig-napping in August.

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