I was making my traditional holiday calendars for the grandparents the other night and came across a bunch of great photos ... of the dog. Not so many of the kids as they start to get older, but lots and lots of the dog.
My mom doesn't mind that one of her grandchildren rarely bathes, has a wet nose, is a quadruped and thinks the world is his bathroom. My step-mom, however, states emphatically over and over that "the dog is not one of my grandchildren!" Of course, this makes my sister and I even more emphatically insist that she is, simply for the pure entertainment value.
The irony is that the dog (mine or my sister's) is probably the best grandchild ever. He'll eat whatever you want to feed him without being picky or complaining. He doesn't want you to chase him around the house all day unless you want to. He's happy just to lay at your feet while you play Scrabble on Facebook or do "research" on the computer. He doesn't fight with his brothers or his friends or his cousins and he doesn't pout. He doesn't leave his stuff all over the house. You can read the books you're interested in and he doesn't hog the TV or the video games.
Of course, he prefers crunching Legos to building with them and he's kind of a sloppy eater. And he can't call to say hello or thank you or 'I got all A's on my report card." He can -- and does -- give just as many kisses and hugs and never gets tired of sitting in your lap.