Yowich! Look at me! I have become a matriarch! This is so not rock and roll...
Alright, I admit it, I like it, but two weeks ago I was an unencumbered bachelorette and now I'm a 'mother' of five and must carry it off with becoming grace while still being true to my 'rock chick', heavy metal image. Its a tough one: this is shockingly un-gothic.
At the risk of turning this into a 'mommy blog', I will elaborate. Ahem:
I might get away with this one
even though he's obsessed with his ball. He might be soppy, but he doesn't look soppy. On the occasions when his choppers aren't buried in his ball, they're pretty impressive and of course he's a big dog. Pity about the pedigree, but its not his fault, really. Fortunately the breed is not well-known, so I could pretend he was a German Shepherd-cross.
This one's already going to a bit difficult to live down image-wise, but she does have a certain 'je ne sais quois'. I don't know what it is (as the term implies) so I needn't elaborate. Maybe its the pale eyes - anyway, there's a hint of the dangerous about her even though she's awfully keen to please and a little bit timid. Maybe its because she's female?
But this one! This one takes the cake and probably the teacups and everything else along with it. This one does not rock.
Alright, so his image has improved a little since I changed his name from 'Snowy' to 'Snowbeast', but the fact remains: He's a lap dog. He goes 'Yaf Yaf Yaf' and is only likely to be dangerous if he fluffs you to death. I'm madly fond of the little devil already, of course, but somehow I know: Even if I buy him a black collar with six-inch spikes - he'll just never be rock and roll.
Tch. Oh well, I'll find a way to compensate. That should be fun.
PS: The cats will feature at some point, but they Rawk! All cats do...