Meet Dog. In our family diagram, he fills the role of Family Asshole.
He will not only take a piece of pizza out of a child's hand, but he will refuse to relinquish it. Although if he did give it back I should probably not feed the dog-slobbed-on pizza to the children, or at least not admit to that on the internet, ever, but that is beside the point. He should relinquish it on demand, not run away and clamp down his teeth in doggie death grip mode.
He routinely drags his anus across the carpet, and if he's not in the mood for that, he just yaks on the rug instead.
Although he is only 18" tall (measured from the floor to the tips of his ears) he routinely gets on the table to eat bacon, and when he does, the farts that come out of the dog are disproportionate to his size. How can such a tremendously evil insidiously pervasive stench be contained in such a small animal?
According to the cat, someone needs to firmly explain the nuances of informed consent to him.
No, fuckypuppy! Bad fuckypuppy! Don't worry kids, they are just wrestling. He's not hurting the cat. I think. I make sure to stop him before any penetration can actually occur.
Dryhumping is not isolated to this cat, either. We used to have a yellow lab. My asshole dog used to hump his face while he was sleeping. I believe that shows a pattern of abuse or at least Chronic Assholery. No means no, Dog. Just because your buddy passed out on the floor does not mean he is fair game.
He smells bad. He sheds. He occasionally grows gross moles on his eyes and chin that make him hard to look at until my stepmother mysteriously "deals with them" when we go to her house.
And yet, he is family. He is our smelly, asshole dog. And we love him. Sort of. OK, a lot, mostly, except for when he does that anus-carpet thing. He sleeps with Big Pants at night - right in his bed, under the covers. He cleans up any crumbs or toast-shards dropped on the floor. He will sit and lie down for Tiny Pants, if and only if he has a treat to give him. But that's about it.
He doesn't fetch, or play with toys, or do anything particularly endearing. The best thing I can say about him is that he is tolerant. He has infinite patience with the children dressing him up (OK, with me dressing him up) and instead of a justified snarl his chosen means of retaliation is simpering Bambi eyes.
And yet, if he were gone, we'd miss him. I bitch about the shedding, then smell, the pizza thievery, but in the end, he's our dog. And if we didn't have him, I'd want another asshole dog. To me, a family is not complete without critters, even asshole ones.
He is ten years old; I know he probably won't make it to see either of the boys graduate high school. (Not that he would care about the ceremony, he'd just be all about the cake and Doritos afterward.) I know in spite of all his yakking and farting and shedding and inappropriate humping that I love that little fucker and I will miss him when he's gone. I don't know how our family would function without him.