psycho trucker dog / happy birthday mom!

In honor of my mom's _____ (enter any numeral less than 50) birthday, I will point out all of my father's flaws.  Oh wait- crap, I forgot...he doesn't have any! (more on him later...) Now, everyone who knows my mom loves her because she is the kindest, most amazing person in the world, (but in secret, loathe the fact that she looks like my sister...actually, this is starting to bother me too, because that must mean that I look significantly older than my age).  Nevertheless, I feel compelled to celebrate her on this rather muggy, strangely mosquito-filled fall day (it is September, right?) in my own words...
I love that my mom wakes up each morning surrounded by furry children: Roma (psycho trucker dog), Munchy (better known as "Shtinky Puddin'" for reasons that should be self explanatory), and the infamous Fazer (ancient cat from middle ages who has same litter box phobia as Mrs. Crab Legs).  Let's just say, these furry children are special, (not in the "brown paper packages tied up with string" way, but in the "I had a traumatic childhood" way).  My mom rescues animals, and it's an amazing and wonderful thing to do.  But my mom takes it even further than that...
She not only rescues cats, dogs, mice stuck in the bird food can, partially maimed chipmunks (psycho trucker dog), garder snakes living in the generator (much to the dismay of the terrified electrician who had to "watch" the snake while my mother fetched a bucket), stunned chickadees, nuthatches, titmouses? (I want to say tit-mice, but that sounds so inappropriate) and other wild birds that have flown into the glass window on the back porch with a cacophonous thump, but also "previously rescued rescues"...
Enter Roma (psycho trucker dog).  Roma is a pit bull mix (now don't go all "ohhhhh..." on me, the whole pit bull = psycho dog is totally crap.  I know lots of pits and they're one of my favorite breeds...but yes, Roma is psycho.)  Roma is a victim of the "traumatized childhood" syndrome.  You cannot give Roma a toy, bone, tin can, piece of garbage, small twig, thimble, carrot...NOTHING...unless you want to become her sworn enemy.  If you attempt to take the object away from her, she will pretend to become a vicious killer, and if that doesn't manage to frighten you off, she will succumb to a pitiful state of paralysis we refer to as "limp dog".  This is when she collapses on the ground as though her legs have become jelly and she no longer has the will to live because you have made her life so miserable.  There is only one solution: the truck.  The truck is Roma's only safe haven; there are no strange men in large vehicles with clipboards, there are no dogs, there are no vacuum cleaners, and there are no flashlights.  It's a quiet little world that's just for her, complete with plush leather seats, CD player, and drink holders.  Whenever she's having a traumatic meltdown, all my mother has to say is "Do you wanna get in the truck?" and all is suddenly forgotten...the lies, the hurtful words, the forgotten birthday, the bully from school...everything becomes as perfect as a Xanex-filled day.  But back to my mom and her birthday...
My point in writing this post is to express to my readers (myself and my dog) that my mom has a capacity to love that is unlike any other person, whether it's a psycho trucker dog or her crazy family that couldn't function without her.  She is kind, beautiful, and filled with an infinite passion for life.   Happy Birthday!  I love you.