Some of you may not know this, but I have the most beautiful baby boy.
His picture is taped to my computer, and every day I stare into his innocent, golden eyes.
He was born with a full head of hair — his signature feature — and the tips are bleached from playing in the sun.
His name is Otto. You may call him a dog, but I call him my baby boy.
Otto's five-year history with my family is very important. He is my mom's favorite child. And he's my favorite sibling.
Twice, Otto's underwear-eating habit has cost us $3,000 in puppy surgery.
And once my mom, clad in rubber gloves, had to pull a tampon out of his butt while her best friend held him still.
Puppy love.
But Otto does have his good habits, like curbing our neighborhood's feral-cat problem. Just last week he got rid of another one.
This German wirehaired pointer has a bad reputation. I think it's because he's really big and hairy. I think his pseudo dreadlocks are charming.
He's a good boy. Whenever I go home, he's the first one to greet me at the gate to my backyard. And when I walk through the garage and into the living room, he's happily waiting for me at the sliding-glass door.
Otto is like the friend who never talks about you behind your back. I could cry on his shoulder for all of eternity.
And some people just don't get that.
I feel bad for anyone who has never had a dog to love. They tend to have hearts of stone.
Puppy power is real. Not just in the mind of Scrappy-Doo, but also in mine.
I fully intend on having a ranch with Irish wolfhounds, great danes, German wirehaired pointers and Italian spinoni.
And I don't care what anyone thinks.
I know Otto doesn't have the most relevance to SPM. But he does love to play games (page 16). He's a clothing connoisseur (page 12). And beautiful music comes from both of his ends (page 10).
And he just goes to show that women really are happier with ugly mean (page 24).
I just figured that any loyal SPM reader would want to know what makes me tick. What I live for. What gives me happiness.
His name is Otto.
