The Coup

We apologize about taking over this blog, but we have no choice. We know many of you read our Papa’s posts to chuckle and giggle at stories about his adorable, darling little toddler (the bona fide new “apple of his eye”). Yeah, he’s cute and all. But we can’t take it anymore. We have to speak up. We feel like it’s our duty on behalf of the 78.2 million dogs and 86.4 million cats that loyally serve their owners in the U.S. Did you know that there are 46.3 million households in this country with dogs as pets, and 38.0 million households with those mean, aloof cats? What?! We can Google. What do you think we do all day long while you humans go off into the world and leave us locked up?

Today we’re forming a coup on behalf of the dog and cat population. Heck, we’ll even throw in all of the crazy reptiles, birds and other wack-a-doo pets.

Before we go any further, I should probably give you a brief introduction. I’m Bistro, a lovable, gentle and sweet French Bulldog. I’m here with my sister, Beverly. She’s another delightful and good-natured Frenchie. Oh yeah, and there’s Beatrice, a pretentious, stuck-up and slightly snippy Imperial Shih-Tzu. We used to be Dad and Papa’s children. The operative word in that statement is “used to”. Right, that’s two words. Whatever.

You see, life was grand. It was perfect, actually. We lived with two DINKS (Dual Income No Kids). Anyone who's anyone knows that the gays treat their pets like royalty. We used to get Halloween costumes that would make the children in the neighborhood jealous. It was so much fun to bark and scare the crap out of them. Still is. We got these uh-mazing cookies on our birthdays. Organic peanut butter, oatmeal and a yogurt coating. They were heaven. We’re drooling just thinking about them. Please don’t make a Pavlov joke. It’s uncouth. And you should’ve seen Christmas. We had our own stockings, santa hats and presents galore. Even the grandmothers bought us chew toys and outfits. We were the cat’s pajamas. Stupid cats.

Then it/he/that came along. Eighteen months ago, our lives changed forever. We became pets. We became mother-effing actual pets. It’s awful. No, it’s repulsive and vile. Dare we say shocking. You don’t believe us? Let us give you a tiny glimpse into how terrible and ghastly our life has become.

  • We used to sleep in bed with the dads. We would all dog pile, cuddle up and snore happily together. We would even sleep in until 9:30 or 10:00 with Dad. That sh*t never happens any more. We sleep on a dog bed that they say is an “orthopedic peaceful lounger”, whatever that means. Oh, and they try to smooth it over by putting the blanket in the dryer and saying, “here, it’s all warm and cozy for you.” Nice try.
  • We used to have a dog nanny who would come over four or five times a week. She baked us biscuits. She took thousands of pictures of us (we called her the paparazzi). We would go on these incredibly long walks and explore the world. Now she only comes to the house when the dads travel out of town. Apparently, the kid needs to go to college, so they’ve cut back on the dog walking. Don’t try to sell it by saying that the kid’s nanny and Papa are always home now. It’s not the same.
  • Beatrice also used to go to work with Dad. We bulldogs loved those days (sorry Bea Bea). She got to be the Princess of the Big City, and we got to lounge around all day without having to worry about her silly puppy antics. And the humping. Oh, the humping. Why does she do that? It’s my head you stupid little teacup. Now she’s here all of the time and never far from my head.

This just happened. I wanted to take a break from writing. You try to type with these nails. So, I went to the bedroom for my fifteenth nap today, and Papa yells at me. I don’t care if the the kid is napping. I need my sleep. This coup is hard work. Fine, back to typing then.


  • Let’s talk about our hygiene. Beatrice even got blueberry facials at the dog spa. We used to get oatmeal and tea tree bath treatments. The bath water was the perfect temperature, and they would use the blowdryer to make sure we were warm. Now? Now we get shuttled into the truck, driven down to the Petco, thrown into a huge sink and hosed down with lukewarm water. Yes, it’s still Oatmeal and Tea Tree shampoo, but that’s not the point.
  • Finally, the kid throws things. What is that? We’re constantly dodging sippy cups, toy trains and shoes. We’re getting up there in the years and our reflexes aren’t what they used to be. We’re exhausted. And, bruised by these flying objects.

As you can see, our life has been significantly impacted by the kid. Yes, he is sticky and gooey. Yes, when he sits in that high chair thingy, food magically drops from the sky. Yes, he laughs at all of our jokes and hugs us all of the time. Yes, he has amazing new toys that we get to play with and chew on. And the stuffed animals, don’t even get us started.

Wait, he’s getting into the high chair. Gotta go.


From Papa:

If you’d like to follow along and ensure that the dogs are treated more fairly, you can track their story at www.

OH WHO ARE WE KIDDING?!

Check out the latest happenings in our son’s life at www.dadandpapa.com/blog/or here on Gays With Kids. That’ll teach the dogs to leave their documents up on my computer.

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