I hate when people ask me that question. I don't hate the question; I just hate giving the answer. Before I could just say, "two." A very reasonable number for a single person living alone. Then, there was a transition period where I could say, "Well, I have two and then I have these two puppies, I'm trying to get adopted." Then I just sounded like a concerned animal lover looking out for abandoned dogs. But now? Now I have to admit, (and I admit reluctantly) "I have four dogs." And then the person gets The Look that tells me that I'm the girl with four dogs. One dog, cool. Two dogs, animal lover. Four dogs and people look at me like I have serious issues. Four dogs? Sometimes I just have to say it to myself for me to believe it, "Do I really have four dogs?" I can't even believe it and neither can people when I tell them. Then I feel obliged to explain about how these two puppies showed up at my house one day and they were so skinny and pathetic, but happy go lucky that I let them in and then I tried to get them adopted and Randi did get adopted, but then got unadopted the next day and then the person has stopped listening and is just going back what could possibly be wrong with me that I have four dogs. I don't even know what's wrong with me that I have four dogs, except they were really skinny and pathetic and I had to let them in the yard. I'm like the old spinster lady with a bunch of cats, only it's dogs and I'm not old yet.
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