dogtags: an explanation of sorts

People ask me fairly often if we have any pets. My response? “No, I have three kids under five.” Occassionally, Mark tries to convince me that we need an animal around here. The most recent time, he wanted to give Burke a hamster for his birthday. “Bethany, he would LOVE it.” While I know Mark’s right, I couldn’t seem to shake images of a hamster “accidentally” let loose and scurrying around the house or the potential smell of rodent-inhabited-living. So, although feeling like the grinch, I easily, firmly, and simply replied, “no.” Truthfully, our neighbors have enough pets to make up for our barrenness. The other day, Burke came to the back door with fresh s**t on his feet (I think the explicitive in certainly appropriate here). Some large animal had done its business in our yard. Well, of course, Burke walked in it and then proceeded to smear it all over the patio with his feet. No everyone, I’m not ready for a pet quite yet. So, in the meantime, we’re dog-tagging our children, who sometimes like to wander out the front door into the street. This way, the people who find them know where these street monkeys and irresponsible parents live. No, really, the dialogue and thought process behind the dogtags (as seen in a picture a couple of posts back) went a little bit more like this: 

Mark has been writing a novel, a fictional memoir of several events surrounding one man’s life, among them, a war. So, as a clever way to stick out in a field where it’s pretty hard to stick out, Mark wanted to include pictures in the memoir, and of course his character-model needed dogtags. In the process of creating these dogtags, Mark also thought it would be a fantastic idea to have dogtags made for the boys, roping all necessary information around their neck, just in case they somehow find themselves lost. Now, there are only two types of living beings (that I’m aware of) who wear tags: the military and pets. Seeing as our boys don’t fit into either group, I thought Mark was joking. Apparently not.