Why Being a Moose Rocks the Hiz

We all have ambitions. Matthew wants to win the lottery so we can finally buy a 'shag pad' (his words, not mine) in Budapest. My parents apparently want all three of their daughters, both sons in law, the grandkid, and the associated five dogs all to move permanently into their one-bedroom house. Most of the world's news agencies would like to see Pippa Middleton marrying Prince Harry while wearing a mini skirt and thigh-high stiletto boots. And that could be Pippa or Harry in the skirt, by the way.

My ambitions are simpler than that. My goal: be reincarnated as Moose. 

A Moose. Plus another one. At my parents' house.

Not A moose. Not two moose (see plural moose, pictured right). Not the kind of moose that wanders into my parents' back yard, eats their aspen trees, makes itself comfortable on the back porch, and stares menacingly at the dog. No, I want to be our Moose. The dog Moose. The Moose that gets to track mud all over our white carpet and not get evicted from the house. The Moose that eats much better than we do and then is allowed to wipe his face all over our newly-covered sofas. The Moose that takes great pleasure jumping on the bed at four in the morning  and nudging us out of our warm sleeping spaces so he can have a bit of a snuggle.

That's the kind of Moose I want to be. 

This is a well thought out ambition, I will have you know. I mean, it isn't as if I am not satisfied with my own life. Let's just take the past two months. I went to Wyoming for six weeks, during which time I worked both my real job and my dream job simultaneously (mindblowing multitasking!) and got to hang out with the parents at said one-bedroom house. I also had knee surgery (shall we call this epic multitasking?) and attended a staff meeting. And recertified my EMT card (how does she DO all this multitasking?). And then I picked up and went to Croatia, where I wandered around in the sun, ate incredible seafood, and drank insane amounts of red wine from a plastic bottle (slow down, multitasker!).  So as I was saying, it's not half bad. 

But let's take stock of the things a Moose has that a Lera does not. 

1. A tail. An oft neglected dog feature (especially in the States where some dogs' tails are docked) that shows emotion, looks adorable, can thwap people in the face, and can purposefully knock all manner of items off a table while making it look like an accident. Moose even dipped his tail into a glass of champagne the other day, just for fun. 

2. The ability to bite people and make it look like emotional distress. Well, OK. I will admit that if I ran up to someone and bit them it might look a lot like emotional distress and/or a strong dose of hallucinogenic drugs. Whereas when Moose, for example, ran up and bit a visiting priest last week, he only earned a mild scowl and a swift trip inside. 

3. Predictably bad breath. No, I am serious about this one. You know when you wake up in the morning and you kiss your husband/wife/partner/one-night-stand and you worry that your breath just stinks? Moose doesn't care. 

4. His very own blog. I couldn't possibly have a blog that is dedicated to myself. No, I am far too mild mannered and humble for that sort of thing. But Moose, you see, has his very own blog to detail his adventures. I am just his publicist, if you think about it. I want a publicist! 

So there you have it. Four very good reasons why I want to be Moose in my next life. The only problem with my design is this: what makes a Moose life so grand is the fact that his publicist, chef, massage therapist, life coach, and sleeping buddy happens to be me. So in order for me to die and reincarnate as a Moose I would also have to not die and not have to reincarnate as anybody. So...multitasking? Translife, multi-dimension multitasking. I despair.