We are dog-sitting Charlie while Ben and Abbie are on their honeymoon.

(Charlie being the aforementioned gigantic yellow lab. He’s, like, a hundred pounds, no kidding. His head is approximately the size of my ass, which everyone knows is quite large and juicy. He poops about a quart of poop, twice a day. It’s insane.)

At first, Molly was the spastic one, jumping all over our guest, demanding a wrestling match. If Charlie got ahold of one of her toys, she’d bark sharply and incessantly in protest, and he’d drop it, sigh heavily, and galumph over to sit by me.

For the most part, Charlie just slept a lot, sprawled unselfconsciously despite his hugeness, occasionally moaning or grunting like a big, sweet, dumb kid. (There’s a great Flowers for Algernon joke Rob and I have going, but I’ll leave it to your imagination, since even just mentioning this is soooo not PC.)

Now Molly is the one hiding out under my desk, trying to get some shut-eye goddammit, while Charlie vigorously chews all the new (to him) Nylabones around the house, moo-ing randomly because he is hungry or excited, or both. Which he is, with gusto, at all times.

But I think Molly is rubbing off on him. Last night, I left them un-crated for five minutes while I ran over to Walgreens, and when I returned, they had retrieved a stale loaf of bread from the garbage can and were gobbling it down like they might never eat again.

We all know Molly spends most of her free time Dumpster-diving in our trash can, but when I leave her loose in the house to run a quick errand, she always watches pathetically from the window, as if her good behavior will bring me back. And Charlie, despite his unending hunger, would ordinarily be mortified by such disobedience. He strives, above all else, to be a Good Boy.

Yet, together, they are a force to be reckoned with. I swear they are purposely egging each other on.

How is it that two dogs are more than twice as much as one?

This is how parents must feel, going from one child to two. It’s remarkable how different they are: Charlie with his basic willingness to please (that is occasionally trumped by his excitability, which is, of course, exacerbated by his size), and Molly with her basic bossy impertinence (that is occasionally overlooked in favor of her better qualities, such as … um … being cute. Or, uhhhm … not shedding. Yeah, that’s definitely one).

They behave differently on walks: Charlie ducking his head when another dog comes our way, maybe leaning forward for a curious sniff, and Molly instantly going into batshit-insane mean-teeth mode if she so much as suspects that that creature in the distance might be a BLACK DOG. (My dog is a racist. How embarrassing.)

Rob and I even talk to them in different voices: Molly in a high-pitched pinch-the-baby’s-cheeks voice, and Charlie in a hey-buddy-do-ya-want-another-beer voice.

They are so different, for better and for worse, in such different ways, and I love them both for all that they are.

But, honestly, together? It’s like living in a zoo. They team up on me and take over. I’ve more or less given up this week to catering to their constant demands, whether its breaking up an argument over a bone or needing to go outside just once more, not because they have to do their business but because they’re just bored.

On the plus side,  Molly is going to be exhausted and therefore really, really good after Charlie goes home. And Charlie is a quick study on all kinds of new tricks, which I’ll leave as a surprise for when his mom and dad get home.

Not to mention I am enjoying every minute of the craziness in my house. I think that, after years of solitude working from home, and many more years of being an introspective, depressive-type person, I think all this commotion is good for me. My house is a disaster and I can’t hear myself think, but I’ve been in a perpetual state of bliss.

I hope this means I’ll do OK as a mom to human kids. When the time comes. As it is, having two dogs makes me feel like I could be very happy as a childless dog lady.

Just for fun, here is a glimpse of my crazy, crazy mornings. At first we had crazy nights, primarily because Charlie decided he was not happy about Molly sleeping in a crate and would whine his protest, nudging my face or thumping his tail on Molly’s crate, every hour, on the hour, until dawn. So now Charlie is sleeping in his crate, and Molly is sleeping in her crate, and, well, you can see how happy they are to reunite in the mornings:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’m headed back outside again. The diarrhea train is pulling out of the station after last night’s garbage feast, and I’m just along for the ride.