What Happened to Us?

I like the idea of animals.  I don't really like animals all that much, especially ones that traditionally live in people houses.  I grew up on a farm (an actual one where that was/is my Dad's profession and his children's bane) and feel comfortable saying that animals belong outside.  Cows belong outside, for obvious reasons.  Dogs belong outside.  We didn't even have a dog for the longest time because dogs tend to herd and cows in a corral getting herded is a bad thing.  Cats belong outside.  Ours were always feral barn cats.  We'd steal the kittens, play with them for awhile, and then let them back to their native feral-ness when they weren't cute anymore.  [speaking of ferals, there was a neighbor family named the Ferrels.  They were hippies that used to roam through their mini orchard pretty naked]  My mom is terrified of mice, so the possibility of having a rodent animal in the house wasn't to be dwelt upon.  We had a couple of birds.  Mr. Bird the parakeet.  He was a funny soul.  Until we left my brother home during one family vacation and came home to find him dead.  Then we got finches.  Mrs. Finch didn't live very long.  Mr. Finch got one of his feet caught in the nesting material and it fell off.  My brother (the same one that let the bird starve) came home one day with the red turtle from biology class.  That lasted a couple of months and then we released him into the Snake River.  Probably illegal.  We had guppies.  We had them for a long time, until one of my cousins was running through the kitchen with a hammer and hit the tank.  (Yea!  Guppy soup for dinner tonight at the family reunion!)  We would always catch tadpoles from the ditches and put them in the Radio Flyer to either bake in the sun if we forgot or to turn into baby frogs if we remembered to keep them watered.  Our most important rule was that veterinarians were only for useful animals, like cows.  Our animals, not the cows, were usually pretty scabby and if they couldn't care for themselves, they died.  The cows usually died, too-- well, the cows didn't, but the tasty, tasty steers did.  I'm realizing as I write this that it is no wonder why I don't really like animals.
When we got married, we decided (Dan being a country boy himself) that animals would be outside.  I mentioned liking birds.  Dan mentioned always wanting a gigantic fish tank.  On my second birthday after we were married, Dan got me a 30 gallon fish tank.  [See the Simpsons episode where Homer buys Marge a bowling ball with the name Homer inscribed on it for her birthday] All in all, I don't mind the fish.  I hate when the water starts getting low.  The constant trickling noise grates on my nerves and after having 5 kids, is just plain dangerous. 
Last fall, Morgan was trying to beef up his merit badge collection.  He wanted to get the pet merit badge.  He'd just finished up 3 of the hardest required ones and I kind of lost my mind felt like he should be rewarded for his hard work.  We discussed birds (my choice), dogs (not going to happen), cats (nada to this), gerbils or hamsters (Grammy would never visit us again).  Morgan wanted a bird until we told him that Blue from the movie Rio couldn't really talk, only mimic and would never love him.  He really wanted an animal that would love him.  We settled on guinea pigs.  We got two cute little squeakers. 
I'm pretty tired of the squeakers.  They stink to high heavens, even though Morgan changes out their bedding once a week.  He doesn't remember to feed them.  They rattle around all night long (not nocturnal, my big toe!).  Come spring (you know, the one that finally gets here in July) we are building an outdoor cage/domicile for them.   They will not be coming back in the house when winter comes back.  If they live in the cold in Peru, they can live in the cold in Washington. 
We now also have a bird.  He was passed down to us, a culdesac bird, you might say.  Rigoletto is my favorite of our pets.  He sings when we play the piano or when Alison starts whining.  We got him a mirror and he loves his new friend-- he happily chatters to himself.  To get from one roost to the next, he'll slide down the bars of the cage.
So what happened to us?  How could we have gotten ourselves into this menagerie life style?  The girls are already planning their pets.  I dread the day we actually move on to some property.  We've told the kids for so long that we couldn't have a dog or cat until we live somewhere where they will be happy living outside and won't be eaten by eagles, coyotes, or raccoons.