Megs and Kibs
(a.k.a.: Those incessant woofing noises)

Ok, in the beginning, there was Mom. It was determined that Mom needed companionship of a canine nature, so O'ma said let there be dogs. And then there were dogs.

Enter two frisky purebred collies. I think they were supposed to provide some modicum of security as well, but that aspect never really panned out (something about "Lick thy enemy"). Mom got to pick out their names. If you ever doubted the socially challenged nature of Microsoft employees, then doubt no more. Mom named them "Megs" and "Kibs", short for Megabyte and Kilobit. Yes, she actually did make the distinction between bit and byte. Kibs was smaller than Megs and hence was a bit to Megs' byte. (Note the premonitory use of "bit" and "bite").

Life was the epitome of bliss in the household. Mom would play with Megs and Kibs, and Megs and Kibs would make architectural statements with their superior chewing abilities. At some point, Megs and Kibs developed a set of unique idiosyncrasies: Megs had a thing for jumping in front of moving vehicles, and Kibs was terrified of anything round (except her food bowl), and they both loved to "speak" their mind. Other than that, life was good.

Then, Mom met Dad. At first, Megs and Kibs liked Dad. He would get down on the ground and let them lick his ears. As time went on, though, it became clear that Dad was not interested in becoming the next chew toy for Megs and Kibs. Dad had his sights set higher. Dad wanted Mom. That did not sit well with Megs and Kibs. It should be noted that Megs and Kibs are sisters, and as sisters, they have no qualms about offing the other one in order to secure a more significant role in the family hierarchy. If either one of them had had opposable thumbs, it would have been all over. Its unclear, however, if Megs or Kibs would have offed each other, or would have gone for the interloper himself. Luckily, neither had opposable thumbs, and not much blood was shed.

After they came to grips with Dad, the black furry thing with big ears entered the picture. (I suspect it was part of a communist plot on Dad's part.) This black furry thing was small and should have posed no problem to the family pecking order -- if she got out of line, they could just take her out, opposable thumbs or not. However, they sorely underestimated how attractive a quality litter-box training was, not to mention the relative inability to speak. I know for a fact that Kibs tried to take Furball out on more than one occasion, and Megs tried to use that attack as a reason to take Kibs out. It was all starting to get very complicated, and I hadn't even entered the picture yet.

Life in the house had sorted itself out for 2 years when I entered the picture. My grand entrance complicated matters. Megs and Kibs had dealt with Dad. Megs and Kibs had barely dealt with Furball. Megs and Kibs were not dealing well at all with me. You see, Mom and Dad were willing to let Furball, Megs, and Kibs duke it out to establish the pecking order. With me, I was immediately elevated to the top, and everyone was expected to fall into line. Furball was apparently stronger in the cognitive arena and understood that those who gave food ultimately set the rules. Megs and Kibs were, unfortunately, unable to grasp this concept. They had had enough.

Since they were so aggressive to the members of the household, Megs and Kibs were banished to the outdoors and the basement. Since I was now the top dog (no pun intended) in the house, and since I had a knack for demanding constant attention, Megs and Kibs were essentially cut out of the loop. That was the last straw for them. They were upset, and they wanted to make sure the rest of the world (or at least the greater Queensborough area) knew how they felt. Our neighbors were not new to the concept of the Megs Morning wake-up call, but Megs and Kibs managed to take it to an all new level of annoyance. They perfected the yip-pause-yip-rest-repeat. This allowed people to wake up to the first yip, in time to here the second yip clearly (and thus understand why they awoke), fall asleep again and repeat the process. Surprisingly, no one got a gun. This alone did not seal their fate. It was when they tried to take me out, that their coffin was complete.

Mom and Dad found a new house for us to live in, one that didn't have a power miter saw, an air compressor, a nail gun, and 1200 feet of baseboard in the living room. One that I could crawl in. One that had a yard for me to play in. One that was not fenced and not fit for the dogs. That was that.

With that ordeal behind me, I needed to explore the new house.