No Pets Allowed (Yet)

I HAVE SOMETHING to admit. I’m apprehensive about telling you because as soon as I do, you’ll judge me.

- Laura Anders Lee

You’ll think I’m a cold-hearted person. So I’ll just say it: I’m not a pet person. I’m not your standard dog or cat person; I’m not a trendy yard chicken person or a low-maintenance goldfish person. I’m just not really into pets. So do you hate me?

Instead, my husband and I take care of two wild animals named Anders and William, our sons whom we affectionately call our two hot messes. While pet owners complain about chewed-up designer shoes, ruined down pillows and stolen Thanksgiving turkeys, we have our own laundry list of horror stories. When Anders was two, he painted the entire living room with thick, waterproof Desitin diaper cream. When William was three, he colored all over the walls with black pen and peed inside the McDonald’s PlayPlace “to watch it go down the slide.” A puppy can be housetrained in a matter of weeks. My little humans still haven’t mastered the art of the bathroom in five and seven years. I’m just not sure I can manage another living thing in our house that pees, poops, eats and destroys.