King, Patches, Big Red, Spike, Nermal, Garfield, Freckles, Taffy, Susie, Beauregard, Tommy, Cujo, Sarah Jane, Boris, Max (twice), and Blacki.

Oh, that’s not a complete list. Hey, I’m 70, and if I’ve forgotten a few pet names, I’m going to blame my age.

Dogs, cats, a guinea pig (Freckles) – we had pets all our married life. And I’m going to blame Gary for starting it.

Shortly after we were married, he wanted to bring a German Shepherd into our little family. King was exceptional in that he bonded to Gary, and took out his antics on me. One time he found almost all of my sweaters and took them down to the basement. Isn’t that sweet?

He loved kids, and when he decided to leave home (yanking his tie-out from the ground), he could be found on the Wethersfield playground having a blast with little people.

Our cats had their personalities, too. Tommy decided to terrorize me all through his too-short life. He would wait around corners, swishing his tail, ears flat, pupils almost filling his eyes, and then pounce, claws out. As for his little person, Clint, well, that was his buddy.

Our largest pet population was when we had four cats, four dogs, and Freckles. Eventually, though, we ended up with two dogs, then one at a time.

Cujo, our Saint Bernard mix, and Max, Clint’s dog, got along for a while until one night Max attacked Cujo. They got into a fight that scared the stuffing out of Gary and me. We were told that Max had just hit puberty (who knew?), and was going for dominance over Cujo. From then on, they had to be separated.

At times, Max was crated while Gary and I went to work. We couldn’t stand the thought of them hurting each other. But one day as I was pulling out of the drive, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t latched Max’s crate after bringing Cujo inside. I pulled back in, ran to the house, unlocked the door and found Cujo lying peacefully on the floor just outside of Max’s open crate. Max was calm, and just as peaceful. I nervously reached past Cujo and latched the crate. I never did that again.

Cujo passed away a few years later, and Max had the run of the house. We lost her to diabetes, on Mother’s Day in 2006. Ironic, since she was Clint’s dog. Gary and I cried, like we always did when we had to say good-bye to our furry friends.

Sarah Jane came along, and the bonding with Gary was immediate. They were well-known for their walks around town. Sarah was a yellow Lab mix and her energy didn’t reach normal, calm levels for almost five years. I read Marley & Me after we got her, and Gary and I watched the movie. There she was, our Sarah Jane, right there on television. It was eye-opening to realize that this is how Labs behave. Or, don’t behave, actually.

After Sarah passed, we brought Blacki home. We were told she was a Beagle/Husky mix, but come on, she looked and acted like a Lab. Then, one day while watching wolves on television, Blacki let loose with a Beagle howl that told us she had some of that pooch in her genes. I love Beagles, and now we had a dog who looked and acted like a Lab but sounded like a Beagle.

I’ve tried to have cats since Gary passed, but I’m not quite healthy enough to care for any kind of pet. There are seemingly endless arguments why it would be a bad idea to adopt, but almost every time I see a kitten, puppy, cat or dog, I want it. All of the arguments fly out the window and all I want to do is gather a warm, furry creature into my arms and shower it with love.

For now, I live vicariously through others who share their pets with us on Facebook. It’s not the same, not at all, but it’s what I have and I’m thankful.