Published: July 08, 2008 01:27 pm      

Pet pleas dashed by morbidatorium

He came running into the house, sweat flopping off his golden, six-year-old brow.

"Mama, I'm hungry. I need a fresh hot dog, plain, with no bun," our oldest son said amid a flurry of gasps.

"Well, it's not time for supper yet, honey," my wife replied.

"I just need a snack," he said quickly. "I just need a fresh hot dog, plain, with no bun."

The odd request prompted her antennae.

"Do you want it cooked or cold?"

"Cooked," he said hurriedly, looking out the window. "Cooked is fine."

"Well, son, if you're getting this for some type of animal, they like it cold, not cooked," she informed him. "Is it for you or an animal?"

He considered the loaded question.

Through a grin, he said, "It's for me. I like my hot dogs fresh and cold – today."

We quickly learned that while playing outside Sunday, our children had come upon a dog. The young golden lab decided to hang around, for reasons now obvious.

"Daddy, can we keep him? Can we keep him?" was the clarion call of the hour.

"No" was my responding declaration. "You know the moratorium."

They do. I mention it twice a day in response to our three children attempting to drag some poor, living creature into our home. My moratorium is this: No more living creatures in our house or yard. We have met our quota. If one of the living creatures currently residing on our property dies, or goes to college, then another living creature can come in. Until then, the moratorium is in place.

Recently, the rest of my family conspired against me and the moratorium, sneaking a turtle into our home. I really didn't notice the aquarium in our kitchen window until the kids "cleaned it up," throwing a bunch of little rocks down the sink drain, causing a major plumbing emergency.

They named the turtle Alex. We got him in mid-June. We buried him last week.

Hence, the reason for the moratorium. Actually, it's really a morbidatorium. It's not that I don't want our kids to have any more pets. It's that history has shown that our household simply can't keep another mammal, crustacean, reptile, or marsupial alive.

Our cat, Yoyo, has somehow escaped this death wrath. Either he was grandfathered in (as one of our home's original inhabitants), or he has that "nine lives" things going for him. I'll have to consult our local Root Man to determine how exactly Yoyo has thus far dodged extinction.

Back to this week's dog.

"Daddy, we'll keep him alive, I swear," begged our daughter. "We'll feed him and bathe him and keep him away from cars and rat poison and everything."

Begging doesn't faze the merciful. I'd like this dog to live long enough to be neutered.

He's obviously someone else's dog, I explained. I told the crowd of frowns that I would put an ad in the paper to find the proper owner.

So, if you want the dog to live, proper owner, please contact us soon. Our curse wastes little time.