Ma petite

One day my brother walked into the apartment with a wide smile on his face. Seeing as it was his birthday, it didn't strike me as particularly odd. Though, I admit he looked... giddy; akin to a tween schoolgirl after her first date with the class stud. As he'd never given me a reason to doubt his sexuality, I didn't immediately worry for my heels and makeup.

In his hands he held a small bundle of rags. Which suddenly moved.

'Tell me it's not a rat...'

No me juzguen; Mi hermanito es completamente capaz de muchas cosas -including but not limited to: random fires (TWICE, and one included the fire department); floods (we saved the computer just barely); flashy fights (even girls; he claims they were too manly to use that as an excuse); doodling on his own face with permanent markers (that was a fun one... rubbed his face raw with alcohol for a couple of hours afterwards); failing two years in a row; quarreling with military guys, or 3 year old girls for that matter; swallowing a plastic niño Jesús from the Rosca de Reyes (a tale in itself; I'll tell it another time); smoking and the nonchalantly walking up to my mother with a ton of cologne to "hide the smell"; sending his brothers to the hospital multiple times (they came thisclose to getting Ritalin); stabbing me with a belt buckle (... yes :S);

Jeez... I'm tired already; you get the point. He's a bit of a rambunctious mess. Nice kid, though. Just no common sense.

-Back to the matter-

I was a wee bit worried, until he pulled the rags to show a small, white, furry thing.

That's how Yuki came into our lives.

Like many new pet stories, we went through the cycles- mom told mon frère that there was no way -NO WAY- we were keeping it. No space for a dog, the money involved, the needs it had, and a BITCH, too, we'd be filled with unwanted litters and how manipulative of you, coming here with a puppy on your birthday thinking I'd fold just because it's your special day and it's a cute little PUPPY! Well, no way in HELL that will happen, you will get that damn thing out of this house TODAY!!!

Yuki's been with us for about four years. And mom goes bonkers if anything comes close to harming her “nieta” (I swear that’s how she introduces the dog to people – “Y esta es mi nieta, Yuki”). And she nearly burst into copious tears the one day the dumb, faulty little thing almost got lost. And after that day the taxi ran her over (and she miraculously ran away completely unscathed save for a couple of bruises) she wouldn't let the dog out of her grasp for a week.

I must say, brother dear was a wonderful father for a couple of months. Bought her special milk, taught her to drink from a plate and eat solid food, spent two days without sleep because she would whine and cry in the night, got her a cute sweater and all her shots, and endured all the laughs and taunts a boy his age would get for taking a cute little French poodle (we later realized she was a mixed breed; the poor defective thing) out for a walk, pink ribbons and sweaters not-withstanding (my initiative, of course; he hates it when I put her in ribbons, but won't defy me yet).

Until he got sent to military school. Since, Yuki's become everyone's dog.

Sure, the flighty little thing is not particularly cute when seen in detail (she looks like a huge rat when wet), and she's spoiled rotten. She whines and cries to get her way, needs constant baths (which she hates), and is a true coward. She can't defend the house or us at all -she's scared of kittens and squirrels, for heaven's sake.

But we love her. Adore her. We fall apart to please her, and fight over who gets to sleep with her (and steal her in the middle of the night otherwise). That little coddled, lazy thing is kind of useless, and I'm sure she'd die without us to care for her, since her instincts seem pretty lame.

Not to mention, she's pretty whorish.

We just can't go against it. She's more than a pet- she's real family. We'd probably be as lost without her as she without us. In fact, I'm pretty sure we don't own her, but rather belong to her. She can make any of us randomly start prattling stupid baby words with just a "look".

And, in turn, she's completely helpless to our malicious ways. Yes, we torture her with constant baths (she has an uncanny ability to turn gray at a moment's notice), poofy brushes and blowdryers, unrestrained smooches, yards of pink ribbons, and bright red nail polish.

Yes, we are just plain evil like that.

But it's a small price to pay, for either party.