Now imagine if I had kids. . . .

Let me start off this post with a bit of information: My family—yeah, we’re dog people.

We’ve always had dogs. My mom had Ginger (an inside dog) when we were born, and my dad had various outside/hunting dogs. There have always been dogs around the house—Twinkie followed Ginger, then came Princess, Molly, Muffin and Sophie. When Grandma Ruby went into the nursing home, her dog, Sarah, came to live with my parents. We’ve had hunting dogs (Sgt. Joe and Silky, to name a couple), outside dogs (Benji, Bonnie, and her beagle mix pups, Cassie and Freckles, who were also prolific, giving us numerous puppies and Socks, the beagle/dachsund mix), and the dogs that sort of adopted us: Princess (really my aunt and uncle’s dog, but she loved my dad best), Ebony and her sisters, Bernie, Molly, and Scooby, a huge mutt who survived Hurricane Katrina with my brother, then moved further inland and is now a favorite of my mom and dad’s.

So when my parents told me they were coming to Nashville for the Beltwide Cotton Conference held at the Opryland Hotel and asked me to keep Sophie, their dog, I wasn’t surprised. And they’ve kept Muffin more times than I can count. Then came last night/this morning.

Let me say that my parents also brought Sarah, my Grandma’s dog, because they couldn’t bear to board her. Fine, but Sarah is old and set in her ways. . . and has a problem with obeying me when I call her or tell her to do something. So my parents take me out to dinner and bring me back to my place. We walk the dogs, and Mom and Dad leave. I attempt to settle the crew in for the night.

First, Muffin goes in my bed (yes, my next dog will not sleep with me). Sophie has a treat and is trying to fuss with anyone in sight and bounds onto my bed also. Muffin growls and gives me the stare that quite obviously says, What have you done? I attempt to settle Sarah in the kitchen, but this fails. I then attempt to get her to go to sleep in her bed placed next to mine. No dice. Finally, I plunk her on the end of the bed and attempt to go to sleep. And nothing. . . .

I can’t sleep. It’s 11:37 p.m., and I have to get up at 5 a.m. Muffin’s mad and taking up half the bed. Sophie’s snuggled right next to me and hotter than a heater. Sarah won’t lay down her head and keeps listening for a new noise to bark about. Around midnight, I have a headache, still can’t sleep, and give in to the urge to take Tylenol pm. After this decision, I do fall asleep!

Sarah wakes me up at 4:38 a.m. crying. She’s not in my room, but the guest room and just standing there in the middle of the room, whining. I pick her up, make Sophie come back up the stairs, and try to go back to sleep. I have 15 minutes before the alarm goes off. This sucks!

A few minutes later, I’m walking three dogs on three different leashes in the dark. Fun! Then I’m trying to get ready for work. Sophie’s got another treat and is parked on the end of my bed, barking and growling at any dog who deigns to come near. Sarah can’t rest or decide what to do and trudges up and down the stairs, enticing Sophie to bark whenever she shows up at the top of the stairs. Muffin has parked it on the couch and is giving me that look (and quite possibly, “the paw,” which is the dog equivalent of flipping you off.)

I get dressed, apply make-up, make my lunch, fix my hair, and fix breakfast while intervening in dog arguments and trying to figure out where Sarah’s gotten to now. Finally, it’s time to go. I go upstairs and get Sophie and Sarah. Sophie follows me downstairs and into the kitchen, where I plan to gate them in for the day. I believe Sarah has followed me, but alas, she did not. Imagine that. Back up the stairs for the 500th time this morning, grab Sarah, put her in kitchen jail, distribute treats, gather all the crap I carry to work and hurry out to the car. Somewhere in there, I spilled coffee all over my hand (HOT!) and lost my mind.

At 6:30 a.m., I was on my way to work. AND EXHAUSTED!