If You Belonged Here

The Question is Begged, The Dol is Two-Legged. Er...

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not. 

- Dr. Seuss, The Lorax

For those of you with kids in school, it may not come as a surprise that Dr. Seuss' birthday was March 2. It was used as a springboard for Read Across America, so if your school is like my daughter's, you got annoying robo-calls about reading to your children. We really didn't need the reminder at our house, thanks, and it bugs me when a robo-call interrupts my viewing of "Dogtown," but there you go.

Not that the obnoxious calls have anything to do with how much I love Dr. Seuss. I love him.

My daughter's school encouraged kids to dress up as a Seussian character. Most kids did Thing 1 or Thing 2, or Sally from The Cat in the Hat. Baby Dol and I spent an entire day creating a fabulous, fabulous Cindy Lou Who get-up.

Here's the hair.

Yeah, I know--pretty damn awesome, right? I have no trouble fishing for a compliment on this bad boy, people, because it is the best thing I have ever done in my entire life. When I put that bow on the top and stepped back to look at it, I giggled maniacally, because I don't do hair. 

I mean, look at it, people! It's beautiful, quirky, lush! Feel free to heap compliments on me in the comments. 

After you answer the question, of course. Which is coming, now that I've vainly tooted my own horn.

My question today refers back to one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, The Lorax. I will be honest here, amigos: I get choked up every time I read that book. 

I mean, who doesn't love that grumpy little Lorax? 

He was shortish. And oldish. And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy.

He's quite the environmentalist, is The Lorax. 

I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.

The Onceler tells the story of how he  (the Onceler) destroyed the local habitat and drove away all of the native wildlife in his quest to create Thneeds (a sort of universal clothing item that doubles as a multi-purpose linen). 

The Lorax fought hard to stop the destruction of the habitat, but eventually even he fled. 

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance...
just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance...
as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.
And I'll never forget the grim look on his face
when he hoisted himself and took leave of this place,
through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.
And all that the Lorax left here in this mess was a small pile of rocks, with the one word

UNLESS.

The Onceler gives the last remaining seed of the Truffula Tree to the reader so that the habitat might be brought back again.

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.

And that's where we come to today's question:

What do you do, big things or small things, to make the world a better place? 

Alice Gets All Dol'd Up

Alice: Ok, lady, you ready?

Dol: If by ready, you mean drunk, then sadly no.

Alice: Well, then: I’m ready. You can have one-word answers since this isn't a hazing, like it was for Chance. How do you think he did by the way? You think he's gonna fit in here?

Dol: He seems to have the right amount of admiration for all of us.

Alice: Exactly. So, you're a pretty die-hard right winger, correct-o?

Dol: Me; a teabagger? Do you know what that means?

Alice: I do. But only because I looked it up.

Dol: Me, too. My gay friends kept chuckling and nudging each other, and I didn't get it. At first, I figured the right wingers didn’t get it either, but then again with all their crazy sex scandals, it could be a really clever inside joke—only they aren’t clever. Which is why I’m a dirty hippy.

Alice: You do a lot of work in your local political scene—is any of it paid work or do you volunteer?

Dol: I'm a Democrat, so it's all volunteer.

Alice: Good lordy I love that answer.

What do you think of people who get all amped up at election time and then do absolutely nothing otherwise?

Dol: Well, I realize that not everyone has the free time to get involved. I forgive them as long as they vote. People who don’t vote are schmucks. But the people that really irritate the hell out of me are the people who have big noisy opinions but don't have a clue what they're talking about. Like climate-change deniers or people who oppose gay marriage.

Alice: Have you seen any episodes of Brotherhood?

Dol: No. Is it good? Because I need something new to watch while I fold laundry.

Alice: Wait, you fold laundry? I thought you were too good for work and had a cleaning lady. So, then you're not a complete snob? Damn, that kind of ruins things.

Dol: When I said "fold laundry," I meant I supervise my laundry-folding staff.

Alice: Phew.

Dol: Sorry, I forgot I was amongst commoners here.

Alice: Moving on. Would you say your top two causes are animals and politics?

Dol: Are you basing this on my facebook posts?

Alice: I’ll take that as a “yes.”

If you had to give up one of those, which would it be? And I mean give it up—no sneaky phone banking late at night or facebook updates: Give. It. Up.

Dol: Easy: politics.

Alice: I did not expect that to be so easy. It’s obvious: you don’t really love your country, do you?

Dol: Of course I don’t. All Democrats hate the United States. It's officially in our party platform. We heart France. They are so much better than us.

Alice: Don’t you think, though, France has it a bit easier since they are like, a little smaller and have more homogeneity?

Dol: They have good wine, too. I really think that deserves a solid amount of credit for the awesomeness of the French. Plus, they have the most fabulous socialized health care evah.

Alice: Thanks for telling me all that—I’m bitter with France now.

Who would you rather go on a date with: Bush, Cheney, or Rove?

Dol: That is disgusting. I would rather join a convent in Siberia.

Alice: Sorry, you're gonna have to pick one. I bet Karl Rove is a pretty fun guy!

Dol: “No” to Rove. Sure he can rap, but his stage name is “Turd Blossom.” And I definitely cannot see myself choosing Cheney, because I doubt his status among the living.

Alice: Bush likes to golf!

Dol: I hate golf. Golf is for Republicans.

Alice: Dude. You know I heart golf, right?

Dol: I can give you that mini golf is okay.

Alice: You still haven’t answered the question.

Dol: But this is a disgusting question.

Alice: I know. That’s the point. Answer!

Dol: Given the awfulness of the other choices, I think I’m willing to allude to Bush. But there’s no way I’m going to come right out and say it.

Alice: Okay.

Your family consists of you, Baby Doc, one girl, two dogs, and two cats, right?

Dol: I'm also fostering a bunch of dust bunnies.

Alice: Baby Doc is a pediatrician. Does he have any adult patients that just can't move on because he is so wonderful?

Dol: I asked him for you. He says he thinks they accept the inevitable, even if they don't like it.

Alice: I bet it would be kind of nice to have a patient as a baby and as a grandma. Ask him.

Dol: He says no.

Alice: But life is so cyclical, you know—he would get to see his patients with diapers and without teeth and in floral prints at two stages of their lives. Wouldn’t he like that?

Dol: He says he wouldn’t like that. He says you're fixating, Alice.

Alice: I’ve been told that I have that problem.

So did him being a baby, well, doc, make you as a parent of a new born, more or less wacko when it came to bumps, scrapes, falls, health scares in general?

Dol: I was definitely less of a wacko having him around. You know who was funny, though? Polly.

When Secret Lulu was a tiny baby, Polly called our house at least once a day, usually with a question about poop. One time, Baby Doc and I watched Lulu for a couple of hours, and when Polly came to get her, I reported that Lulu had pooped. I figured, given Polly’s preoccupation with Lulu’s poop, she’d be glad to hear it. But Polly got kind of quiet. I guessed what was up right away. I asked, “You want to go get it out of the dumpster and look at it, don't you?" She said, "Kind of."

Alice: So, she was more—you were less. There couldn't have been a better answer there. What’s more likely for your family: another baby or another pet?

Dol: Easy: pet.

Alice: Does that mean you're getting another puppy?

Dol: I'd appreciate it if we could keep that under wraps. We haven't told the cats yet. I think they’re hoping for a gerbil or a fish, so a puppy is going to be a big disappointment.

Alice: Will you answer a few questions in the character of one of your pets?

Dol: Didn't I already tell you that I'm not drunk?

Alice: Yeah, but my chihuahua Santos, who is a mean Mexicano, has a few questions for your Frodo, the 3 legger you rescued via Mexico.

Dol: Go ahead, Frodo's ready.

Santos: Hola, Frotto. Esta Santos. I lives in the Ohio but me gusta Mexico mucho.

Frodo: Ohio? Who you think you joking at? You ain’t no mean Mexicano. I am Mexicano for reals— auténtico!

Santos: Haly Sheet. Tu mean for a handicap dag.

Frodo: We is calling it Handy Capable, pendejo.

Santos: Homo, tu didn't—if I’m ever get to Sandi Ego I'm to sheet on your lawn.

Frodo: What you weigh? Like five ounce? You look on my lawn, I kick you ass—and I don’t need no stinking four paw to do it, either.

Santos: Dis enough. Tu mean dag. I’m unfriend tu on DogBook right now. Later, tres legger.

Frodo: Tu mamá!

Alice: I'm not sure that turned out as had Santos hoped.

What’s your number one guilty pleasure?

Dol: I downloaded a Britney Spears song recently. Does that count?

Alice: It counts.

Fiction or non-fiction?

Dol: Definitely fiction. Non-fiction is usually too boring, but not always.

Alice: What’s the last book you read that you absolutely did not want to end?

Dol: "The Endless Forest," by Sara Donati. I think I cried for the last 10 pages.

Alice: Favorite movie?

Dol: I guess in terms of re-watchability, I love the Lord of the Rings movies and the Harry Potter movies.

Alice: Schools for your daughter: public or private?

Dol: Public, absolutely. I am a commie pinko that way.

Alice: What job would you least like her to grow up to have? You can’t say "stripper."

Dol: Republican operative.

Alice: So, then, what if she grows up to be a republican operative?

Dol: I would much rather she become a stripper. I'd even prefer stripper over registered Republican. If she turns out Republican, I may have to adopt and start over.

Alice: How old does she have to be to: color her hair, pierce her ears, go on a date?

Dol: She needs to be able to pay for her own hair color. She can get her ears pierced whenever she wants. What is a date anymore? Do kids do that?

Alice: If they do, how old before she can—for the sake of definition—go to the movies alone with a boy. Or girl, of course.

Dol: But not a Republican, right? Because I couldn't care less if she's a lesbian but I'll have to go into therapy if she dates or becomes a conservative. Anyhow, I guess I'd say about 15 for a date.

Alice: I only have one more question: is it true what they say about red heads, do they do it better?

Dol: Yes, everything. Better.

Alice: That’s a wrap.

Dol: Really? This has been very fun. You're totally better than Terri Gross. She never does pet voices.

The Dol and Her Menagerie

Ramblin' Jack once said that if he's reincarnated, he wants to come back as one of my pets. I will not deny that they are pampered and well loved. 

They have pet beds, cat condos, and a wide assortment of toys and chewies. They all have multiple nicknames. Songs, even. 

And we do that thing where we talk for them. 

You know the thing. Where you sort of channel the animal's thoughts in a goofy "animal" voice. It is totally dorky. And my entire family, every one of us college educated, does it.

My brother, The Skipper, is famous for giving each pet an entire persona. He has been known to carry on entire conversations with a family member through the dog. 

I know it sounds weird, people, but you have to know how hilarious it is to see someone respond, totally seriously, to what "the dog" is saying. I admit, I have done it myself.

The Skipper's dog, Charlie, is an excessively cute dog. He's also an expensive, purebred French Bulldog. 

Don't let that fool you: he still poops under my Christmas tree every year. You can't buy sophistication, apparently.

In contrast with Charlie, Baby Doc and I have an odd assortment of strays and stragglers that live at our house. We are big believers in adopting animals through rescue organizations, and not from breeders. 

It's an especially big deal now, with the economy in the toilet and the mortgage crisis forcing so many families out of their homes. Most shelters are overrun with surrendered "foreclosure" pets. 

My in-laws just adopted a poodle today, in fact, from a rescue group. The dog was given up by a man and his young son, who were literally living in their car just so they could keep the dog. The son was apparently very attached to him. When they finally decided they had to go to a homeless shelter, they had to give the dog up. 

Does that not suck the big one? Who wants to go buy an expensive poodle from a breeder when there is an animal like that one out there who needs a home? 

I'm just sayin', people. You know how I am with my soapbox. Consider that the public service announcement portion of this post.

Back to my own happy, no-longer-homeless lovelies.

There's Turtle, my grey cat with white socks. 

She's paranoid, which is why I posted this particular photo of her. Although, to be fair, sometimes they actually are out to get her. (The dogs, that is.)

I adopted Turtle when she was living the hobo lifestyle a few blocks away from my parents. She scaled my pants leg the first time I went to pet her in a neighbor's yard. I took that as "Get me the hell out of here." So I did.

We also have Peanut, a black ball of pure cat love. Peanut is the Barry White of the cat world. We like to imagine that he would be an R&B crooner if he knew enough English. 

As it is, Peanut, who can't sing "Let's Get It On," resorts to the occasional dry hump of Turtle, who is, sadly, an unwilling participant in his amorous affection. 

He's neutered, which only adds to the hilarity for our household, and probably increases Turtle's humiliation, as well. 

It's a fine balance over here.

We got Peanut from the local shelter, where he had been for many months when we adopted him. Most people want kittens, not cats of indeterminate age. It was fortunate for us, because he is a sweet boy.

Peanut not only loves Turtle, he also loves our dogs. 

Olivia is our German Shepherd, from the same local shelter as Peanut. Olivia is sweet, loyal, and smart. She's also bossy. She herds the cats, and generally tries to dominate anyone who will let her.

Don't worry--we don't. We watch "The Dog Whisperer," people. Excercise, discipline, affection. 

We got it. We exude a calm, assertive presence. Mostly.

Which leads to the story of the fourth pet in the lineup. César Millán, better known as The Dog Whisperer, did a show once that featured an animal rescue group in Southern California. I decided it would be a great idea for me to contact the rescue group and foster a dog for them. (I'm a sucker with a bleeding heart, people.) 

Yeah, so I'm not allowed to foster animals anymore, because I keep them.

Frodo is a strange-looking fellow with helicopter ears. He was supposed to stay with us as a foster until the rescue organization found him a permanent home. 

Well, they found him a permanent home. With me.

Frodo is a catahoula leopard dog, a breed most people have never heard of, and he has three legs. One of his back legs had to be removed by a vet in Mexico (that's where he's from, amigos). I'm always telling people not to feel sorry for him, though. He's a happy guy and he gets around just fine. 

Not to mention, he's athletic enough that if he had all four legs, he'd probably escape from our yard on a regular basis.

Those are my fur babies. I love them. I love them, love them, love them. They cheer me up, they crack me up, they frequently wake me up. 

And it's all good. They are pure love, and I will take that anytime I can get it.