I always wanted a large family. When Mike and I got engaged, I seriously suggested, "Let's have eight kids." Mike, still in shock, hesitantly replied, "Two?"  The bartering began. Mike/2, Donna/6, Mike/4, Donna/6, Mike/2.

In the end, the decision wasn't really ours. Fate stepped in and decided how many and what kind (both kids were a month premature).  Mike summed it up very succinctly as the doctor laid a just born Jessica in my arms. "A boy and a girl. Perfect. We'll try again when they come up with a third sex."

Through the years, the maternal instinct stayed strong. Whenever I felt a yearning to cuddle something small, I adopted a new pet. I swear there was an underground in the wildlife community. If an animal was sick or injured, it found its way to our house. Mike was always concerned that he would find a wounded hippo in the living room. He threatened to plant a vine near the front door and just swing in from work. At one time, we had a wolf, a Labrador retriever, a husky, a cocker spaniel, three cats, an endangered species tortoise, a chinchilla, a long haired guinea pig, a cockatiel, five parakeets, a lizard and forty -- yes, I did say 40 -- gerbils. No need for us to visit the zoo. We could have charged admission and made a fortune.

My son's fifth grade teacher thought it would be a good idea for her students to learn responsibility by caring for a class pet. "A" class pet -- she should have stuck to the "A" part. Instead, she bought three gerbils and assigned a student a week to feed them and clean the cage.

When the school year ended, she asked who wanted to adopt Susie, Sally and Sandy. Michael begged and pleaded all night. "Please, mom. I'll take care of them. They're easy. You won't have to do a thing." What can I say. I'm a sucker for my kids.

I called the teacher and she assured me the three gerbils were all female, healthy and tame. They loved being held and played with. So, home they came. For a few weeks, everything seemed fine. Then, two of the gerbils, Susie and Sally, started to get fat. They didn't run on the wheel as much and slept a lot of the time. Stupid me. I thought we were overfeeding them. One morning, I heard Michael and Jessica screaming for me from the family room. "Mom. Come quick. There's something wrong with Sally and Susie." You got it! The only thing wrong with Sally and Susie was that Sandy was really Sammy. Did you know that some baby gerbils are born still encased in the sack and need to be cut free with surgical scissors? Did I tell you that my husband is a doctor? Guess who his patients were that morning. Sixteen gerbils later, we bought a second cage. Problem was, we weren't experts yet on distinguishing males from females. So the cycle repeated, and a short time later...."Mom. Come quick!"

This time, I went to the pet shop and bought a book on gerbil care. As soon as I got home, I picked up each one of those furry bundles and spread their legs. Small they may have been, but like a Pinkerton guard, I always get  my man, er, men.

When we were done separating the sexes, we had twenty males, twenty females and four very large cages. After dinner, I showed Mike the new arrangements. "See," I said, "what happens when you stifle a woman's need to breed?" Mike 's answer, "Just promise me. No rabbits!."

I didn't listen. 

 To be continued.....