You have HOW many animals?

Well, see that’s a funny story, actually. It depends on how you count them. Animals that are living in the house, not necessarily mine? Let’s see… three dogs, three cats, and a snake. Essentially, a small zoo. But now, there are three people living in our little nook of the city, so that averages out to one dog, one cat, and a foot-long section of a snake each. That’s not so bad, is it?

The living situation itself is a little odd, but it works. My husband, Kyle and me have one bedroom, and my best friend since God-knows-when has the other. So there are ten living organisms in a small house. TEN. It was eleven, but Patrick Henry (the little freedom fighter fish) has recently gone to the big fishbowl in the sky. Godspeed, my little friend. Godspeed.

Cats or dogs first, who do you want to meet? How about C, the snake. Her name is lady, she is a corn snake and she belongs to Tiffany, my roommate. Now, that doesn’t mean I don’t like her. I actually really enjoy snakes as pets, I just don’t have any at the moment. Okay, maybe you’ve got the heebie jeebies and you think I’m insane. That’s perfectly okay. But hear me out: they live in a small cage. No hair on your clothes or furniture- ever. You feed them about once a week and they couldn’t give a crap whether or not you spend quality time with them. No, your scaly, legless friend will never demand a walk in the park, or that you throw a ball. They’re even lower maintenance than fish. Fabulous for a busy mom or someone who’s just lazy. Or a lazy, busy mom. Whatever. They make good pets.

Dogs. Man’s Best Friend. Woman’s Biggest Annoyance. Okay, okay, that’s not true. I didn’t really mean it. They can be a little bit much sometimes, but you better believe I would rather spend time with my dogs than most people. That’s right, I’m the awkward friend who never makes it inside your house because I’m rolling around in the grass with your German Shepherd, Hank. Fur > skin. I mean come on, has a dog ever caused drama in your life? No. And if you do somehow manage to push the envelope of their patience and actually piss them off, one slice of bologna and all is forgiven. Reminds me of Kyle. Ha.

Of the three dogs in our humble abode, Rynn is my absolute favorite. She’s a white Australian Shepherd with striking blue eyes. She hasn’t left my side for more than a few hours since she was just five weeks old (yes, I know that’s way too early to be away from mom. But that is a rant for another blog post). And goodness, she’s brilliant. She’s one of those amazing dogs that will listen like a human. It’s “Rynn, will you get in the floor?”, not “RYNN FLOOR.” She’s amazing. She’ll even give you a high five! Her favorite past times include chasing a ball, chewing a tug rope, sleeping with her legs all splayed out like a fool, and running madly around the house like a puppy possessed. Favorite foods are pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut and peanut butter.

Baby Rynn!

Those eyes though!

Second place in my heart is Tiffany’s black GSD, Bella. God love her heart. I honestly think the poor gal may be autistic. She struggles with dog body language and can’t handle looking you in the eyes if you’re within five feet. She’s also got and extended top palette, so she has the most wicked overbite I’ve ever laid eyes on. But she’s a good dog, despite her learning difficulties. She never makes a mess in the house, never gets in the garbage, never shreds things or causes general havoc. She’s been Rynn’s best friend since day one of her puppyhood. They’re vomit-inducing, I warn you.

UGH.

And then, there’s Dozer. He is literally the dumbest dog I’ve ever met in my life. He’s a sweetheart and he means well, but he’s cost me approximately $7,000 in paper towels. Well maybe not that much, but I am certainly getting tired of cleaning puppy pee puddles. Heh. Puppypeepudddles puppypeepuddles. Say that five times fast.

Anyway, he’s exclusively Kyle’s dog and the absolute bane of my existence. I don’t have a problem with pitbulls as a breed, but Lord have mercy, this one is making me go gray. He can't learn. Just can't. I need a vacation. 

Rynn and "Doo Doo"

Felines are just the best thing. I’m really disappointed that Adam didn’t name them ‘Furry Awesome Balls’ instead of just…cats. But in his defense, I’d probably be running out of creative juice with animal naming too. So we’ll let this one slide. For now.

Of the three cats scampering about, only one of them is mine. His name is Vincent. I can hear it now. “Vincent? That’s a strange name for a cat.” Well, maybe it is to you. But maybe that’s because you don’t know that he’s missing a large chunk of his ear. He was like that when we found him, so for all I know he sliced it off and mailed it to his girlfriend. If you understood that allusion, then you’ll know where his name comes from. If not, go back to art class.

Vinnie is a black shorthair of unknown origins, with an adorable white spot on his chest and ‘deodorant marks’ (as I call them) beneath his front legs. While he may seem like a normal cat if judged from his appearance, he is actually completely insane. Certifiable. No one in the house is protected from his sudden bouts of kitty play. Maybe you’re stumbling towards the kitchen at two in the morning, croaking for a glass of water. And maybe you’ll find your ankles being mugged by a sudden flurry of cat baps, before he dashes off into the shadows to await his next victim. He never uses his claws, because his intention is play and not murder (although that is debatable between Kyle and I). But there is nowhere to hide that he will not find you. Nothing is sacred from his explosive kitty-zoomies. Not even the dogs are safe. Vincent is undoubtedly the King of the House. And no one is brave enough to argue with his Highness.

High King Vincent

And finally the last two cats. They’re property of Tiffany as well, and they’re sickeningly adorable. Bruce and Quinn. Yes, Bruce Wayne and Harley Quinn. Brucie is gray, and his sister has a white mask and little gray spots. They don’t have much personality developed aside from the general kitten-ness, so we’ll see how they turn out.

Sometimes I complain about the animals, yes. I get tired or waking up in the morning and taking the dogs to pee, or scooping out Vincent’s litter box. I have to come behind them and gather the stuffing from their latest toy. And Rynn is always asking me to throw her ball. But no matter how much I may grumble about them, I am so grateful that they’re a part of my journey here on earth. Fur babies bring me heaps of joy and entertainment. They catch my tears and listen better than anyone else. I can’t imagine my life without them.

Now excuse me while I go get a lint roller.

love is a four legged word <3