Today, as I was approaching the car where she was waiting for me after shopping, this conversation happened.

Mom: "Hi, bubby."
Me: "Hi...and, uh, no thanks on the pet names. I've heard you call the dogs that." (Internally: and no way in fuck do I want to be called the same term or associated with those things in any way.)
Mom: "I call everything I love bubby. And I do love you more than the dogs."
Me: [noncommital noise]

No. No you fucking don't. How the fuck can you say you love me more than those things? You sure don't act like it. You know I hate them. You know I hate that they pee and poop all over the downstairs and bark incessantly (to the point where I go to bed wearing earplugs so I'm not woken up by the crying and howling when you and our housemate leave for work in the morning). You know I hate that there are literal shitstains all over the carpets downstairs. There is no way you can't know of my dislike for your stupid precious fucking puppies, because I think I've made it pretty clear over the years. My message certainly can't have been lost on you when I asked if we could move into this place without them so it would actually be clean.

And yet you say to my face that you love me more than them. Well, I have a really hard time believing that. Because I think if you cared about me, you would have bothered to train them like a responsible dog owner rather than letting them shit all over the houses we lived in. But since you never did that, I'm now left to assume that if you cared about me or gave a damn at all, you would get these things out of our house so we can have a clean living space. But you haven't, and I know you won't. I know I won't be free of these things until A) I finally move the fuck out, B) you move the fuck out and take the fucking things with you, or C) they finally die. And believe me, I've thought about ways to make option C happen much earlier than scheduled many times.

You keep these things around knowing full well I hate them but willfully ignoring it, and then have the audacity to claim you love me more than them. Well, keeping them around and letting them continue to make our living space filthy pretty clearly says to me: "I value these dogs more than I value your happiness or desire to live in a clean environment. I care more about them being here and making me happy than I care about you being happy to live here. I love them more than you."

I was so fucking tempted to answer something like "No, I don't think you do," but that would have probably resulted in the screaming-at of a lifetime, so I kept it to myself. I really want to call her out on it, but I know it can only bring disaster. She and I have been getting along for the last year, but I still tread carefully because I know of that possibility that she can be scary again at almost any moment.