I cast my vote for babies, but only because here are the first five things I remember about my little dog:
1) He ate trouser socks. They became shit slingshots when I pulled them out of his tiny ass because he couldn’t pass them without help. He thanked me for my assistance by aggressively biting me every time.
2) No kleenex was safe. If it had snot in it, he ate it. Every trash can in our home required a biohazard anti-tamper lid.
3) No panties were safe. He was a disgusting perv who sifted through the laundry basket when no one was home. All laundry baskets had to be kept behind closed doors.
4) He was terrified of other people for NO REASON. He vibrated like a dog-shaped sex toy even if he had met them before. Doggie zanax only helped a little.
5) There was no breaking him of licking the roof of my mouth. I don’t hang out with my mouth open, nor am I a dog kisser. He would sit in my lap and wait for me to say one word. His tongue was a horrifying pink lightning bolt.
After three years of torment, I gave him to friend who is as unique as he is, and the two of them are living happily ever after in their house near the ocean.
Now I’ve moved on to cats because they’re slightly more civilized. Meet Olive and Berri.
If the battle was between chipmunks and babies, chipmunks would win hands down, even if the baby came with a bag full of cash and a beach house in Malibu. That’s how much I love them.