One of the exciting things about moving back to the farm has been introducing my kids to livestock. We’ve tried to keep it slow and manageable, taking on only the animals that we can commit to and care for properly. Of all the things that have surprised me most about my adult self, it is the restraint I manage to show when it comes to acquiring animals.

As a kid, any orphan or misfit in the barnyard quickly became my pet. Never mind that most of them had a date with the auction block in the future, I became attached to them and resorted to every trick in the book to convince my parents to let me keep them. In some cases, it was tough love, and the animals were sent packing as scheduled. But every once in a while, I managed to make my case and “save” one of them. I use “save” because, after all these years, I can admit that my parents were right, and disaster was usually on the horizon. Some animals just weren’t meant for a long and happy life, and that is the reality of growing up on a farm.

Case in point: Snow Owl. Snow Owl was a beautiful lamb that was born deaf. Since she couldn’t hear, she was frequently separated from her mother. While they were kept in the barn for the winter, it wasn’t such a big deal, as her mother seemed to realize that her offspring needed a little extra minding, and she could be counted on to keep tabs on her. My parents warned me that once spring came, and the sheep were released to pasture, Snow Owl was going to get lost and separated from the flock. The smart, and probably humane thing to do, would be to send her off to market with the rest of the lambs. But, of course, I had a soft spot in my heart for this little lamb, and I promised that I would look after her and do my best to keep her safe. I put a bell and collar on her so that I could track her more easily when she strayed, and for the first few weeks, it seemed like things were going to be OK.

But, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, eventually she got separated from the flock, and worse, she got into something that she shouldn’t have, and ate something that was very bad for her. The tale of Snow Owl did not have a happy ending, and the net addition to the flock that year was zero.

As I got older and more financially independent, I was more and more likely to blow a paycheck on animal welfare. Once I kept my sheep Lima Bean in a kennel at the vet’s office for almost a month while she recovered from a wound in her abdomen. She never would have survived with an open wound in the barn or the pasture, especially in the warm weather, but in the sterile environment of the animal hospital, we were able to keep it clean and dry and it healed. (At the time, I was working at the vet’s office, so the bill wasn’t nearly as astronomical as it could have been, and I provided most of her care myself, saving even more money.)

I also fully expected that one day, I would become a crazy cat or dog, or cat AND dog lady. I’m not quite sure why this hasn’t happened, although I think that getting Tubby (our first cat) and having him be the best cat in the world, but adamantly an only cat, helped. I have recently found myself playing with Taco Cat and wondering if she might like a playmate, but I quickly talk myself out of it as I think of the potential for another cat to upset the apple cart of current calm and everyone managing to keep up with the related cat chores that we have right now. My 12-year-old self would be so disappointed in me.

That 12-year-old, however, is alive and well in G. G’s success with raising his chickens has inspired him to want more. At Christmas time, his math class had an assignment to pick out several items on their Christmas list and figure out the price and the tax rate on it. G’s selections all came from the chicken catalog and included several new additions, as well as accessories for his current tribe.

G is also channeling my younger self by aiming high and hoping that his parents will settle for less just to shut him up. He’s currently going for the exotic species. Last week’s request was a hedgehog. Followed by a ferret. Followed by a leopard gecko. Followed by a bearded dragon. Followed by a chinchilla. The chinchilla even came with “adorabs baby chinchilla” gifs sent to my cellphone. “Mom, how can you resist this cuteness? Obviously, I will need two so they’re not lonely.” The boys don’t realize it but since I’ve worked with all these animals at the veterinarian’s office, I know that some of them have a smell, no matter how much you care for them. Whenever I find myself wavering, I just imagine how much worse the current smell of teenage bedroom could be and I find the strength to say no.

However, his strategy has worked, or at least it appears to be working. This week, after several years of research and looking for just the right addition to our family, we are expanding by one absolutely normal pet: a puppy. The Wonderful Husband and I have been talking this over for more than a year, and we’ve looped the kids in to some extent over the past few months. It wouldn’t be fair to completely spring this on either the puppy or them, but they genuinely have no idea that this dog is coming this week. Yes, the stars have finally aligned and the right dog happened at the right time. I hope they are all happy with the name they all agreed upon last summer, because that’s what he’s getting called. I also hope they all remember their promises to do all the chores related to puppy care. And, I really, really hope that this gets G to stop badgering for well … a pet badger? At least for a few weeks. Now, we just have to hope that my inner 12-year-old doesn’t come home with three puppies, instead of one.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.