Letter to a Pound Pup

Dear New Pup,

Welcome to our home! I hope you like it here. I know this is a very exciting time for you. New smells, new people, new places to explore... I'm sure it can be a bit overwhelming. I'm going to be honest with you, I was a little nervous, too. With only a picture from the county shelter website and a brief introduction in the meeting area, we were really relying on first impressions and gut instinct. We don't know how you landed in doggie prison, other than you were wandering around in the wrong place at the wrong time. We posted your bail, paid for your spay, and promised we will take care of you for the rest of your life. By the way, we think you are about one or two years old so we're expecting to spend many years with you.

Doing hard time in the Big House

Bustin' out of the slammer

To make this transition easier for both you and the rest of the group, I thought I'd give you a heads up on the house rules.

1. Play with your human sisters. I know they are loud and run around like monkeys on crack, but they are good kids. They like to throw the tennis ball down the hall. Please play along and grab it. You'll get bonus points if you bring it back to them. Every once in a while, be sure to give them a lick. They love that stuff. I see that you've already claimed my youngest daughter as your favorite. My heart melted when you laid beside her when she had a little stomach virus this weekend and refused to leave her side. Good girl. You're a good girl.

2. I know you have a bad hind leg. We see the scars and the x-ray confirms you have pretty severe arthritis in your knee. They think you might have suffered blunt force trauma there at one point in your young age. Please be patent with us as we try to manage your pain and make the best decision as to how to make it better. The vet said we have a few options, but it's pretty much guaranteed that we'll have to amputate your hind leg when you get older. I know it sounds horrible, but you're already learning to not use that leg as much and I think you would really rock the tripod look. Whatever we have to do, we'll always place your comfort and quality of life as top priority. For now, we'll try the other options and see how that works for you.

3. With that being said, it looks like the couch and the end of our bed are off limits to you. I don't think it's a good idea for you to try to climb up on or off of those high places. Please don't think that because your older fur sister, Bailey Grace, sprawls out like a pampered princess on our furniture that she is the golden child. We love you both equally. Feel free to sleep in any room you wish. I'll move your bed around for you.

4. As soon as the staples from your spay are removed and we can take off "The Cone of Shame," be prepared for a really thorough bath. You still smell like prison. I want to wash the past out of your fur. Bailey loves baths and loves being toweled off even more. I hope you feel the same. If not, I'll be quick and avoid getting water in your eyes.

I pulled at my stitches. Now I wear the "Cone of Shame."

5. Be patient with Bailey. Even though she's almost two years old, she's still a stupid puppy. She lost her older fur brother, Malcolm Reynolds, five months ago and she really missed his company. She might get a little too rambunctious when she wants to play because he was twice her size and he could handle it. You are twenty pounds lighter than her so let her know when she gets to be too much. She might pout for a while, but she'll always look out for you, just like she does for her human family. Last night, you cried out in your sleep. Bailey jumped off the bed and laid with you until you settled down. Once she knew you were okay, she jumped back on the bed and fell asleep. She doesn't know what you went through to earn those horrible scars around your chest and across your back, but she'll be there to help you move on. P.S. She'll always give up her bone or tennis ball to you. She's kind of a wimp. Please don't take advantage of that. P.P.S. I don't get why she needs to sniff your butt as much as she does... if that bothers you, feel free to tell her to knock it off.

This happened for at least 3 hours the first day. Bailey, you're such a perv.

6. Don't eat anything that is not food. Just don't. I'll keep the house clean to eliminate the temptation, but do me a solid and stick to dog food.

7. At least pretend to feel guilty about farting. We all know it was you.

8. Remember to suck up to the extended family, our friends, the vet, and neighbors. Show them that you are a good dog with a gentle disposition. (I've seen it first hand and I know that even with the abuse from your past, you still love people. I don't know if I could be that forgiving.) They will be the first ones to speak up against the media driven stereotype of pit bulls and the fear of rescuing animals from a shelter. You're our second pit bull and our third rescue from our county shelter. If more people witness what amazing companions you truly are, maybe more of your kind will find good homes. I will do my part to be a good owner and together we'll change opinions one good interaction at a time.

Squirrel! 

I know it sounds like a lot, but we'll work with you while you get adjusted to your new life here. I'm sorry I don't know your real name. The family decided on the name "Sidney Ray." We chose "Ray" for your middle name, because since you entered our home, you have been a ray of sunshine. Thank you for you sweet kisses and little grunts when I walk through the door each day. Thank you for loving my daughters and checking on them when they cry. Thank you for keeping Bailey company while we are at work and school. Thank you for making the decision to adopt another dog an easy one.



Love,
Your New Mommy

**Please support your local animal shelter. I bet you it's full and many wonderful animals are running out of time. You can adopt, foster, or donate. Sidney Ray was adopted from Gwinnett County Animal Shelter in Lawrenceville, GA. Thank you to the Helping Animals at Gwinnett County Shelter
 facebook page for posting that picture of Sidney. You did more than just save an animal that day.

Help control the pet population. Have your pets spayed or neutered. - Bob Barker

 

Saying Goodbye

I wish I didn't have to share this story with you. As much as it hurts to talk about it, I need to tell you what happened a week ago. We lost a member of our family last week. It was very sudden and it took a while to get over the shock. Although, it took me a week to write this post and I feel that it has helped me get through this very sad moment. Here is the story of Malcolm Reynolds, our beloved doberman pinscher.

It was a sunny morning on January 12, 2012. The Hub called me and said, "I just got a call from my buddy at Gwinnett Animal Control. A black and tan male doberman pinscher just came in. He was an 'owner drop off.' They think he's about 2 years old. You need to get over there and look at him. I want him." At the time, our rescue pit bull, Bailey Grace, was 7 months old. She was full of puppy energy and in a major chewing phase. Couple that with the energy of our (then) 2 year old daughter, B, and you've got a lot of running around and broken things in the house. It took a second for me to comprehend what he was telling me to do. Did he just tell me to pick up another dog?! The Hub never calls me with urgent requests. The Hub likes to mull things over. I'm the urgent one. But, The Hub has always wanted a doberman for as long as I could remember. When we started dating, 14 years ago, he was a vet tech at our local animal clinic. He loved working with the dobermans. He took pictures of each one when they would come in for a check-up. He knew each one by name. We have doberman mugs, stuffed animal toys, knickknacks all over the house. The Hub wanted a doberman and there was one waiting for him at the pound. I told him I would check the pup out and let him know what I thought. How's that for role reversal? 

Three hours later, I drove Malcolm Reynolds home. He calmly sat in the front seat of our little Saturn Coupe and would casually glance out the passenger side window. His head brushed the roof of the car and he looked like a giant next to me. I was a little nervous. He appeared to be very gentle and calm, but in the back of my mind, I half expected him to lean down and tear off my face. I didn't know this dog. I was used to silly little dogs that try to knock you down and assault you with their tongues. Malcolm did not do that. He didn't even pant or wag his little stub for a tail. He didn't sniff or question what was happening or where he was going. He just sat there in the seat while B shouted from her car seat, "He's so big, mama! His ears are pointy, mama!" I just remember looking into his little brown eyes and saying, "You're coming home with us, buddy. I hope that's okay." He squinted and his long pointy ears went back a little. Perhaps that meant, "Okay."

Malcolm Reynolds on Adoption Day 01/12/2012

Bailey Grace and Malcolm Reynolds were instant friends. They sniffed each other and ran around the back yard. Bailey would walk under Malcolm, making him look even taller than before. How is this big dog going to fit in this small house? He's huge! How much will this guy eat? Oh man, that's going to be a lot of dog bombs in the yard. I don't know how this is going to work. My God, he is handsome. I've never seen such a shiny coat. And Bailey seems to like him. He really is a nice dog. He must have had a lot of training in his last home. Okay. We can make this work. 

They're plotting to take over the world.
Or how to get into the dog food bag.
Either way, they're up to something.

The first few weeks, Malcolm was the golden child. He could do no wrong. We believed his previous owner sent him to obedience school because he followed basic commands. We also believed the original owner spent a lot of money on him. Malcolm's ears were perfectly cropped. He got along with Bailey and they seemed to really balance each other out. Bailey got Malcolm to play and Malcolm mellowed Bailey out. He was so sweet to his "little fur sister." He was sweet to his human family, too. He was the sweetest massive beast to walk this earth, if you ask me. It seemed like the perfect situation. Then strange little habits began to show up. Malcolm was obsessed with The Hub. As soon as he walked through the door, Malcolm would turn circles and pace the house. When The Hub left for work, Malcolm would sulk and lay on the couch for a while.

Daddy is at work. I has a sad.

Whenever The Hub worked on his laptop on the couch, Malcolm would lay down near by. As soon as The Hub would pick up his laptop and put it aside so he could get up, Malcolm would jump up in a panic and run to the back door for a potty break. He would do this every single time. We decided that his first owner worked a lot and Malcolm would only get potty breaks when his first owner took a break from work.

Malcolm would also inhale his food. I've never seen anything like it. I've heard that dogs will continue to eat even after they are physically full. Malcolm was a bottomless pit and he would eat so fast that he would gag every now and then. He was able to eat a super nyla bone in less than three minutes. Those things are supposed to last weeks, even months. Because he would eat so fast, he had the worst gas. Malcolm would rip farts every time he stood up. He would fart in his sleep. He would fart while walking down the hall. There was a constant malodorous cloud hovering around him. A true super fan of potty humor, The Hub would push Malcolm's belly, laugh at the sounds trumpeting from the dog's butt and say, "My dog rules!"

Walter the Farting Dog had nothing on Malcolm.
Read this book! http://www.kotzwinkle.com/walter_the_farting_dog_115467.htm

Malcolm would eat things he wasn't supposed to as well. I could write a book just about the things this pup consumed. You can read about Malcolm's sophisticated palate here: I Can't Have Nice Things and I Can't Have Nice Things, Part II. We always feared one day something would get stuck in his digestive tract. Surgery to remove items from a dog's belly is not only expensive, it's pretty intensive. The Hub told me horror stories about all the items retrieved from pooches and the procedure to repair the damaged intestines. I'll spare you the details... just know it's pretty awful. To combat his bad eating habits, I was a cleaning freak. Ne'er a day pass that I didn't collect a sock or a toy left on the floor. Before we would leave the house, I would inspect all the rooms to make sure nothing was within Malcolm's reach. For a large dog with long legs, that included items left on kitchen counter tops and tables. But, Malcolm was a clever dog and much to my chagrin, he would find something extra to eat almost every week. It was his mission. He was an addict and he was playing Russian Roulette with every pair of dirty underwear or stuffed animal he swallowed. I couldn't keep up.

A funny thing happened. Even though Malcolm was driving me insane with his weird and dangerous habits, I fell in love. I came to adore looking into his chocolate brown eyes. I beamed with pride whenever someone would gush over our handsome boy. At night, Malcolm would curl up on the couch next to me. I would prop my feet on him while I watched TV and I could feel his body relax under my legs. I loved his low grunts when he slept. I loved it when he smiled. He would smile when we caught him doing something wrong, but he would show a bigger smile when we praised him for good behavior. Malcolm followed me everywhere. He was my shadow. He was the little lamb to my Mary. He was supposed to be The Hub's dog, but he knew I was his mommy.

Is it dinner time yet??

On Sunday afternoon, October 28, 2012, Malcolm became sick. He started vomiting all over the house.  He would whine a little and look at me and then run to the back door. Malcolm tried so hard to make it outside each time and I could tell he was upset when he got sick on the carpet. He was still drinking water although it didn't stay down as long as we wanted. Monday morning, he stopped eating all together. That is when we knew we were in trouble. The Hub felt around his belly and found a large bulge toward the end of his large intestine. We gave Malcolm a few tablespoons of mineral oil with the hope that maybe whatever was stuck just needed a little lubrication to get moving again. The oil came back up within minutes. My heart sank.

Before Malcolm left for the vet, I looked him in the eyes and said, "We are going to do everything we can do to make you feel better. Okay?" He squinted and his long pointy ears went back a little. Perhaps that meant, "Okay." The Hub took him to the same vet clinic he worked at years before and met with the head veterinarian. Malcolm was becoming septic and he was in a lot of pain. The surgery needed to save him involved removing most of his large intestine. The Hub and I loved Malcolm very much but we knew that he did not deserve the pain he was in nor the pain he would be in if we elected for surgery. 

Our beautiful Malcolm Reynolds passed away Monday, October 29, 2012 at 1:30 pm. We buried him under an oak tree in our yard.

The girls saying good-bye to Malcolm

I'm sad that the story ends here. I thought I would have years and years of Malcolm antics to share with you. He was supposed to be in the picture for our Christmas cards this December. Malcolm would have worn a Santa hat. He was always so patient when I wanted a funny picture with props. I was going to make him a Christmas stocking. I wanted to make him a cake for the anniversary of his adoption.

I take stupid picture mama if I can has food?

For the first time in 9 months, my feet are cold. He isn't curled up on his spot on the couch. I don't have this gentle giant snuggling with my feet and making deep grunts. He doesn't poke me with his nose in the morning to wake me up for breakfast. He doesn't get in my way when I walk down the hall. He isn't behind me when I walk through the house. When I open the bathroom door, he's not waiting for me. He's not laying on the floor in the office while I write this. As big as he was, his absence is bigger. This little house feels too big now.

As I mourn the loss of a pet, I come to find that I am also mourning an end of an era. S is in school and B is getting close to starting school. Bailey is out of her puppy phase and is pretty well behaved for the most part. I am nearing the end of my adventure of being a stay at home mom. The one doubt that whispered in my ear whenever I thought about going back to work was always about Malcolm. Would Malcolm be able to be home without me all day? Would he freak out and tear up the house? Will he think I've left him like his last owner left him? How would this affect his separation anxiety? Malcolm was my "last baby." He needed me. My children are becoming more and more self-sufficient. They can do the little things now. But, Malcolm, he really needed me. He needed my love and comfort all the time. He needed my constant attention. But, now that a week has come and gone since he passed, I realize that maybe I needed him more. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he knew that I needed someone to watch over us while The Hub was away at work. He made me feel safe. He kept me busy during the quiet and lonely moments that a stay at home mom faces on a regular basis. Malcolm became one of my children and I just lost a very precious member of my family.

Everyday is a little lighter and I'm getting used to just the kids and Bailey running around. Life goes on. The laughter is coming back and the pain is slowly being replaced with funny memories of our dobie. We joke that Malcolm was our scapegoat for the family's farts. Poor guy... I'm sure he was only to blame for 50% of the toots emitted since January. We know that we'll get another doberman one day. I look forward to the day when The Hub calls me with an urgent request to run to the pound. Until then, we'll be fine. I promise.

You were a good boy, Malcolm. We love you.
(Rescued) 01/12/2012 - 10/29/2012
"I aim to misbehave." -Malcolm Reynolds, Serenity

At this very moment, B is singing a bluesy song called, "Malcolm Please Come Back." 
"There are more squirrels here. I'll give you my pizza, if you come back. I miss your faarrrrttttsssss!" 

That pretty much sums up the mourning process for the Lavallee family. 

I Can't Have Nice Things, Part II

Malcolm Reynolds did it again. Last night, we left the pups alone for two hours and we came home to mass destruction. Okay. I'm exaggerating. I only lost one thing. I lost a very important thing. I lost an irreplaceable thing. Malcolm Reynolds ate my My Drunk Kitchen apron. I'm devastated.

It just hurts to look at it.

For the few people on this earth who are not yet familiar with My Drunk Kitchen, it is an internet cooking show staring the most adorable Hannah Hart. She gets sauced and cooks something. She swears like a sailor. She is hilarious. It is, in my opinion, the best internet cooking show of all time. Here is my favorite episode:

http://hartoandco.com/my-drunk-kitchen-episode-4.html 

Go ahead. Watch it. I'll wait. Just be sure to come back. 

So, here's what happened. The Hub, kids, and I went over to the in-law's house for dinner before they shipped off on another out of town adventure. (Sounds familiar? It is. See here: I Can't Have Nice Things.) Apparently, the dogs get very upset when people take vacations without them. We were having a pizza dinner and The Hub volunteered to pick up our order. On the way to the pizza place, he stopped by our house again to check on the dogs. Upon entering the kitchen, he found all of my aprons on the floor. Bailey Grace, my squat, sausage of a pit bull, recently figured out how to pull herself up on tables, chairs, and window sills. Our theory is that Bailey pulled herself up on the kitchen table to look out the window. In the process, she knocked all my aprons off the hook on the wall behind her. Once they hit the floor, Malcolm jumped at the opportunity to chew on some fabric. I've decided that's his thing. Socks, shirts, underwear, towels, and now aprons... He's a cotton/poly blend guy.

The Hub did not want to tell me that I lost an apron. He knows how much I like them and that I enjoy showing off my little collection. I started an apron collection after I bought a "retro cherries" one for my costume for a charity arm wrestling match in 2011. I loved it so much, I wanted a few more...

Cute, no? 

I have one for Halloween:

The Witch is in the Kitch

Then there's my The Princess Bride apron featuring Inigo Montoya and his famous line:

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
Best book and movie of all time. 

And up until last night, I was the proud owner of a MDK "Pretentious-Ass Recipe" apron. I was really upset that my furry children ruined another something of mine. I firmly scolded both beasts for their naughty behavior. I pouted for a while on the couch. When I thought I was over it, I checked the Harto & Co. on-line store to see if I could replace the apron but to my dismay, they don't sell this apron anymore. The sadness is back. I'm crushed, people. Crushed.

I know Malcolm is very sorry about it. He walks around with his ears back and his head down. He won't look me in the eyes. He follows me around the house and tried to spoon me while I slept last night. When I was talking pictures of the apron this morning, Malcolm left the room and sat in the corner. He refused to look at the camera for this photo op. 

Cute, no?

Here comes the bizarre part. I completely see the positive in this situation. I know... it's a gift and a curse. Having these damn dogs in my house makes it impossible to be materialistic. I can't have nice things around them, therefore, I don't bother buying nice things anymore. My sewing skills have improved exponentially over the last few months and as long as I have all the pieces, I can usually salvage the item. You can't even tell where I stitched the tongue back on my Converse All-Stars. (Bailey went through a shoe chewing phase for a few weeks this summer.) The dogs have forced me to become the organized neat freak I am today. If I don't pick it up now, consider it devoured and shat out in the backyard later. Today I have to monitor Malcolm's bowl movements to make sure the apron does not get stuck in his digestive tract. If that does not keep a girl grounded and humble, I don't know what does. I live a simple life. No clutter. No major consumerism. 

Malcolm has pre-existing issues that took a while to come out after we rescued him. We're working through them one by one. I didn't realize he was this extreme of a nut case until after I promised to be his mother for the rest of his years. I made a promise to him. I can't back out now. He is a very kind dog and I have to remind myself that he's not being a total jerk on purpose. His previous owner did not give him enough attention during his vulnerable and impressionable puppy/adolescent years, and now he's a compulsive eater and has a fabric fetish. Not bad for only taking Psychology 101, right? 

I love him. I don't like him very much right now, but I love him. What can I say? I like aprons and emotionally damaged pets. It's my thing.

** UPDATE!!! A friend of mine found the Pretentious-Ass Recipe apron. http://mydrunkkitchen.spreadshirt.com/adult-apron-A8177650/customize/color/5
Apparently, I was not on the right page or website or whatnot-whatevers.
Thank you, Alex! Good feeling back!!! 

I Can't Have Nice Things

I talk a lot about my two little girls. I can go on and on about all the crazy, silly, lovely ways they make my life interesting. I've been working on a blog the last few days about some of their antics. I was having a hard time keeping my thoughts straight and it just wasn't coming out right. I took that as a sign that I should stop writing about that topic and think of another story. I wasn't sure what I would write about next and it has been on my mind all day. Luckily, my other children, the four legged variety, came to my rescue with an excellent story. This is about Bailey Grace (the pit bull) and Malcolm Reynolds (the doberman pinscher).

***

This evening, we went out to dinner with my in-laws before they head up to Massachusetts for the week. I had my phone in my back pocket and decided at the last moment to leave it at home. I didn't think I needed it and we were only going to be away for an hour or so. I placed it in the middle of the kitchen table on the way out the door. It's 104 degrees in Georgia so we let the dogs stay inside while we were gone. (Usually they hang out in the fenced in backyard and run around while we are away from the house.) The dogs are always getting into things and chewing stuff. We could fill the house to the brim with raw hides and nylabones and they would still find something to destroy. Before we leave the house, I make sure to close all the bedroom doors and pick up EVERYTHING off the floor or within their reach. I never had to baby-proof the house, but damn it, I've dog-proofed the house. 

After dinner, we came home to two happy pups. Both dogs ran to the door and gave us a warm welcome. I looked around the corner and noticed a bunch of black plastic pieces all over the floor. Bailey pulled the black extension tube off the vacuum cleaner a few days ago and chewed it to bits, so my first thought was she had somehow found leftover pieces of the tube and snacked on that. The Hub walked over and picked up a small silver square from the wreckage. It was a cell phone battery. My cell phone battery. The rest of the phone was no where in sight. 

Bailey ate my phone.

I went into a frantic search for the rest of the phone. I had visions of x-rays and emergency vet bills dancing in my head. I finally found the rest of my phone, slightly chewed, but still intact. The back cover and the battery were beyond repair. I was relieved that Bailey did not actually ingest my phone, but I'm still pretty ticked that I'm without a phone until whenever I can get to a T-mobile store.

My phone... or what's left of my phone.

What baffles me is how she got the phone in the first place. She's a squat little dog. The kitchen table benches were pushed in so she could not have reached the phone. That's when I turned to Malcolm and asked him, "Did you do this?" He smiled. If guilty, Malcolm will show his teeth. If not guilty, he will just look at you. My theory is that Malcolm knocked the phone off the table and Bailey took off with it.

This is a dobie smile (Not Malcolm)
Photo Credit - http://glengate.webs.com/smilingdobermans.htm

I'm mad but I'm not surprised. So far, in the year since we rescued Bailey and Malcolm, they have snacked on the following:

• The outside cable line for our TV and internet
• The wooden handle off The Hub's rubber mallet
• 2 pairs of S's pj bottoms
• 4 hand towels (Malcolm actually ate these and passed them.)
• The downspout from the gutter
• The screen door to our porch
• 10 pairs of my underwear 
• 3 barbie heads
• The Hub's phone charger cord
• The kitchen table bench leg
• A 24 count box of crayons 
• Several pieces of S's art work
• Malcolm's Thunder Shirt 
• A pair of The Hub's "yard work" shoes
• A radio electrical cord
• An electrical extension cord
• A straw broom
• A mop head
• Their own food bowl after they ate their kibble
• Dog shampoo bottle
• Plastic cups
• Hair scrunchies
• Mardi Gras beads
• A beer can
• B's sippy cup lids
• All the sod in our backyard

That's all I can remember at this point. This does not include the non-chewing damage. I've had to shampoo the carpet numerous times after they mud wrestled in our sod-free yard and rushed through the door before I could wipe them down. 

Every dog behavioral book I read suggests that their destructive behavior is due to boredom. Really? Really?! My family and I play with Bailey and Malcolm all the time. I've bought chew toys and bones. We toss the tennis ball until the dogs drop from exhaustion. There are times when I want to drop from exhaustion after a good play time. They get cuddles and hugs all the time. The Hub wrestles with the pups everyday after work and on the weekends. 

Bailey will be a year old in July so she's still considered a puppy. Puppies chew... a lot. The pound estimated that Malcolm is about two years old. He has severe separation anxiety and stress eats. No matter how hard I try to keep things out of their reach, they always seem to find things to munch on. We don't leave them alone very often. Sometimes they destroy things behind the couch while we are in the same room. It only takes a few minutes. I know we have been extremely lucky that we haven't had to take either one of them to the vet because of their eating habits. I knock on wood every day. Every single day.

But, why do you keep these demon dogs?!

I'm a glutton for punishment? Possibly. Both dogs are very sweet. Both beasts think they are small enough to be lap dogs. (Bailey is 60 lbs and Malcolm is 80 lbs.) Both pups adore my girls and will lay down with them if they are sad or sick. The most vicious thing about Bailey is her tongue. The most vicious thing about Malcolm is his gas. They have funny personalities and like to play games. Bailey is protective of her human sisters and keeps an eye on them. Malcolm will wake from a sound sleep at 3 AM to check out a strange noise. He won't settle down until he makes his rounds through the house and checks on everyone in their beds. They are always happy to see us, even if we just left the room, only to return a minute later. They are always up for hugs and kisses. Right now, Bailey is under my desk, laying on my feet. Malcolm is laying down right behind my chair. They never interrupt me while I'm working... which is more than I can say about my human kids. Every time my dogs destroy something, I have to remind myself that it was probably my fault that they got a hold of whatever it was that they destroyed. I probably need to get more chew toys. Durable chew toys. The simple fact is, Bailey and Malcolm love us. They are monsters, but they love us. 

And, I love them.

Malcolm Reynolds and Bailey Grace