When Nine Are Too Many

I am getting used to the reaction I get when I tell people that I have nine dogs.

"Nine dogs!" Followed by awkward sideways glances. Like I had just divulged the fact that, oh, I don't know, I had a summer home on Mars. Or that I was recently diagnosed with a flesh eating super bacteria. That I had a $5000 a day heroin habit which I supported by ... well, I guess you understand what I'm saying. I don't have any of those things. I just have nine dogs.

The reaction comes from dog-o-phobes, and surprisingly it also comes from some happy dog homes. The dog-o-phobes say "Peeooooweeee, are they outside dogs?" I say no, they live in the house and all sleep in our bedroom. "Oh, PEEEOOOOWEEEE! How very germy and nasty of you!" Well they don't say it so much as step back and wrinkle their noses and roll their eyes. This reaction makes me feel sad for them. I know that they are never greeted when they get home from the grocery store like there is no better human being in the Universe. I know that they never get to lower their finished dinner plate to a wagging happybody who is glad, no, ecstatic, to be offered their leftovers. They have no one who depends on them for everything, and is thrilled with everything they get. No warm heartbeat next to them with silky ears to absentmindedly finger, or those eyes which smooth away the most stubborn of life's wrinkles.

I feel bad for those people.

I do not like when I get the sideways glances from people who have one or two treasured dogs. "Oh," they say. "Do you have a kennel or something?" ("Are you a puppy mill? A for profit back yard breeder? A show person who feeds her own ego off her dogs' wins, and needs more, more, more?") I say no, they live in the house and all sleep in our bedroom. The worried people warm up a little, but remain skeptical. "Oh. How do you love nine dogs?" How do I? Are nine too many?

When it is raining and I have to pick up the yard? Nah, it takes me about fifteen minutes, tops, a couple of times a day. The idea of having to trudge out and scoop on a chilly November rainy morning is not so special, but then I come back in to nine shining faces, wagging for their breakfast, and it turns out it really wasn't so bad.

When I get the vet bill? It is vital, whether you have one dog or you have nine dogs, that you have a vet whom you respect, and whom you trust unreservedly. I see my vet nine times more often than my friend who has one dog. Nine times more routine visits and heartworm medicine, nine times more emergencies. Nine times the bills. But every time I see my vet, I thank my lucky stars. For the vet - "Ol' Poke & Stick" the dogs call him, for the two other vets in the practice, and for the entire delightful staff. Nope, I always feel fortunate when we've been to the vet.

Are nine too many when it's time to do teeth and nails? No, but this old house is too big and Delia and Mama Pajama can play hide and seek way too well. At least they hide well. I swear, I can just think about getting the dremel to do toenails, and there goes Delia slinking up the stairs, or out the door if it's nice outside and the door is open. Silly Luciano begs to be next. And if I'm bathing every dog, Looch will rub and rub himself on the beds when another dog is done with a bath. Luciano won't have a drop of water on him, but he is drying himself for all he's worth! Mama Pajama loves the taste of the doggy toothpaste, but hates the toothbrush, so she butts in line and then bites down on the brush and stares innocently at me: "What?" Nope, these chores are fun.

Are nine dogs too many for me to love? I think that every dog in our house feels spoiled and special. I believe that I was created to enjoy animals; clearly I was that way from the earliest time I was becoming me. I've always understood them, and admired them. (When I was four, I stood outside with birdseed in my hand in the freezing, deep snow Massachusetts cold. I stood there from lunch time until nearly dusk, until a chickadee finally ate from my hand. No wonder I now hate the cold.) And I am blessed with a husband who shares my love of innocent souls, and openly accepts who I am. Encourages me. Helps. I must have been really good in a former life. Or he must have been horrible.

I know my limits, surprising as that sounds coming from a woman with nine dogs. And I know that nine is my limit. I know I can tuck nine dogs in at night. I know that I can walk all nine every day. I know that I can take care of nine, play with nine, cuddle all nine. I can feed them and train them and take them to the country to run.

I know that I love each one. And that for me, nine is not too many.