Cody hates me. OK, so maybe "hate" is a bit strong, but he definitely doesn't worship and adore me. Which is weird. Very weird.

Every animal Mr. Husband and I have ever had has been all about me. At any point in time, you will find at least two of the little jerks piled on top of me, and it's usually whichever two I like least at that particular moment.

There's Coal, the tiny little sweetheart of a cat who won't. stop. purring. He has the undying need to sit purring in my ear until my head explodes because OMG do I hate things breathing by my ears, especially if that breathing is accompanied by loud noises and tickly whiskers.

There's the beastly white cat who will occasionally pander to Mr. Husband, but then stalks me all over the house, meowing and whining for me to do something for him. I don't know what exactly it is that he wants since I haven't fed him in approximately NEVER EVER, I don't clean his litter box, and little dude is allergic to treats so hell-to-the-no am I giving him those. I really don't know what he's asking me to do. I guess he just wants to see how many persistent meows it takes until my head explodes.

And then we have Meg. I love Meg, I really do, but I don't generally like her. She stinks (literally), is LOUD, and has the amazing ability to shake her head at the exact moment I try to yawn, thereby launching a few megatons of Bulldog slobber into my mouth and the surrounding areas. If you don't believe me, you ought to see my laptop screen--it is covered in little droplets of Bully slobber and snot. It's so covered, in fact, that it's like one big layer of goop has been used to coat my screen to protect it from, well, more goop, I guess. Definitely cause for a head explosion or two.

But Cody? Cody doesn't sit on me. He doesn't appreciate me. He totally ditches me the second Mr. Husband comes on the scene. The ironic thing about it is that I actually DO things for Cody. Every single day I come home at lunch to let his little puppy butt out to go potty. I could be running errands, or doing something crazy like eating lunch, but no, I run home so I can take a dog out to take a crap. Except, he never takes a crap outside. Ever. I let him out of his giant kennel, we go outside, he runs around like an idiot, and I finally give up and go back inside after about 30 minutes of shivering and wishing he would pop a squat already. Every day he thanks me for that by walking in the front door of our house and promptly popping a squat. In the house. Every day.

Jerkface dog.

But, damn he's cute.