Do I have to enter rehab if I make fun of someone marrying their brother and having children?

I know they’re out there.

Those inbred families. You may know them, met them or – gasp – are related to them. And if you ARE them, I would rather not know your “family reunion” stories. I’m all about sharing the love, but come on people.

I think I met my first inbred family today.

I left work early to take ChaCha to her yearly scheduled vet appointment. Who, just as I predicted, views life through rose colored glasses now that she’s an indoor dog. Demanding treats or snoozing on the couch for hours, you’d think she entered a lavish doggie retreat. I was hoping that the poking, prodding and needles at the vet’s office would bring her down to earth. Maybe remind her that she is still a dog. It didn’t work. I witnessed my plan backfiring as everyone in the waiting room loved all over her and said “Pretty girl! Pretty girl!” in that kind of baby talk that drives you mad. But, of course, it’s okay when I do it.

After the two-steps-back vet visit, I decided to treat The Queen to a field trip at Petco. I love these pet stores that allow you to bring your leashed dogs. Even though you may have to avoid stepping in yellow puddles, the experience usually is quite pleasant.

The alleged inbred family was at the cashier when I entered the store. And as a side note, they were at the cashier the entire time I was there… which was about 25 minutes. They couldn’t find their Petco discount card. Then they couldn’t find their money. Then they asked the cashier all these medical questions… as if a degree in Zoology was a prerequisite for this sixteen year old to run the cash register.

Then there are their two victims-of-inbreeding children. The ones running all over the store. The ones constantly annoying me at the Snack Bar as I scooped various way-over-priced doggie treats and placed them inside a clear bag.

Boy #1: I got crabs.

Me: Wow. Really?

Boy #1: They’re ugly, too.

I assume this child meant he was purchasing pet crabs. I was too afraid to probe.

Boy #2: Is this your dog?

Me: Yes. Her name is ChaCha.

Boy #2: Is it a girl?

Me: Yes. She is a girl. You can pet her. She’s nice.

Boy #2: Is she your buddy?

Me: I guess so. Yeah.

Boy #2: So is it now a boy?

Me: Uhhh, no. She’s still a girl.

I must have missed that day in biology class when they discussed how canines can change their sex at any given time.

I know you’re wondering why I assume these people were inbred.

Let’s just say – I know. Their matching DNA was as obvious as Anna Nicole’s active sex life. As noticeable as the crack in the Liberty Bell. As clear as the glass door I ran smack into the other day. I just know. I’m smart like that.

To describe their inbredness would leave me wide open for accusations of how I generalize people. Ok, maybe I do. It’s not like I walked into Petco and said “Oh goodie! Inbred people!” Ok, maybe I did. It’s not like I lured the parents into a conversation so I could properly assess the inbred situation. Ok, crap. You got me.

When I left Petco the quadruplets were still there. At the register. Still. Pilfering through their purse and wallet and asking stupid pet questions to an employee who had nothing more to say than “I don’t know. I don't know. I don't know.”

As I exited through the automatic doors, I couldn’t help but to quietly think “Thank you GOD for the life I have.”