Got no title and I don't care.

Beware of the Hazards of the Season.

Sometimes I wonder if other families are as quirky as mine is.

Just a few minutes ago my whole family was congregating in my parents room talking about politics, Linkin Park, and when to open Christmas gifts. As usual, we all gathered on my parents bed, because it’s just so freaking huge, as we talked. Soon I started to frezze because for some reason my parents leave their windows open in the middle of winter, so I curled myself around my mother so she can scratch my back as my brother tried to crack my toes and I repeatedly kicked him. Then two of our dogs, Lou and Abby decide they should be able to lounge with us. They jump up, Abby, a golden retriever, seated herself quite comfortably (for herself) on my hip, and Lou, a beagle-mix-thing, landed squarely on my cat Cleo, who was sleeping under the blankets and between my fathers legs. Needless to say, she didn’t like the pouncing all that much, and neither did my father. With a minimal amount of clawing, scratching, and screeching, she removed herself and began making a nest in one of my father’s hats. And then began the Devil talk.

The Devil talk is the tone in our voice we use when the dogs do something bad. They tear up the trash and our voice gets really loud and starts to sound a bit like Darth Vader‘s-- “BAD DOG! LOOK AT THIS! GET OUTSIDE RIGHT THIS MINUITE! GRRRR!” The whole house will shake and small children and animals will cower. Tonight, my brother was using it as a mind control technique.

He grabbed Lou, our beagle, made him look straight into his eyes, and started talking his Devil talk real quietly. “I am your God. You must obey me and in return I will grant your one wish.” He leaned close listening to the dog. “…Oh! You want me to shoot this rubber band at Kayt? Okay!”

From the devil talk we went into let’s beat up Jake, to dad has weird toes, to wrestle with all the dogs while mum tries to sleep, to let’s drive the cats crazy with the flash light, to tickle Kayt while she screams until she runs away then slinks back, to my dad dancing around with a Snoop dog-rapper looking hat on, to which one of our pets would we eat first if we were stuck out in the wilderness?, to how should we cook the cats and dogs?, and on and on.

They’re freaks.