The Dogfather

When considering adoption, having questions is a very normal thing, so I'm told. Do we want an open or closed adoption? Do we adopt domestically or international? What precautions can we take to ensure the child's health? All of these are things that any reasonable people would consider. Although I'm not so sure we fall into that "reasonable people" category, these are all things we've talked about at length. There's one question that keeps popping up in my head though, and I can't quite come up with an answer to it: Are you sure they'll let us raise a kid? It pops in my head every day. Every time I do something stupid or immature (multiple times a day), I think, "How could anyone with any sense allow me to raise a kid?"

The question was never more on my mind than it was this past week. To be honest, we already have 3 kids, they're just furry, have 4 legs, and tend not to talk much. They're usually pretty well-behaved, but in the last week they've combined to run away twice, rip the curtains & curtain rod off the living room wall, and shred every newspaper and magazine in the house leaving us to come home to more confetti on our floor than at the end of a political convention.

It all started last week when Charlie, our 4 year old retriever, decided that 6 am would be a good time to run away. Unless people come over, Charlie is as relaxed as you could expect a dog to be. Even when he's excited, he's sweet. I've always thought that, if we ever had a burglar, that Charlie would lick him to death before he'd ever attack him. But that morning, my sweet little boy decided to test the strength of his collar and sprint to the end of his rope, snapping the collar and sending him off into the darkness. I panicked. Gus, our other dog, panicked. Our cat, Moose...cool as a cucumber. Eventually Charlie returned and all was well, but I think the way I freaked out for those 20 minutes he was gone set the tone for our week. I upset the very delicate ecosystem that is our home and sent Gus (our 1 year old, ball of energy) into a chewing frenzy.

Moose has been the only calm one in the house this week, which makes me even more nervous. I get the feeling that this little kitten is secretly running the entire show, ordering his brothers around, then watching as they get the blame. It's like The Godfather meets Animal Planet. Moose is Michael Corleone giving orders and running the show. Gus is Sonny, the volatile older brother. And Charlie is Luca Brasi, the muscle of the family.

This is what worries me. If we can't handle 2 dogs and a cat, who in their right mind is going to give us a kid? Besides, we need this kid to even things up, we're outnumbered! I've been assured that our dogs chewing things up doesn't disqualify us from adopting or mean that we're going to be bad parents, it's just something that happens. I hope that's right. Just to be on the safe side though, I'm going to be extra nice to Moose from now on. I don't want to end up like Fredo.