Sometimes I sit back and think, “Why do I have three dogs?” It’s a fair question when you consider the endless walks, the constant demand for belly rubs, and their uncanny ability to destroy a brand-new pillow in 30 seconds flat. Let’s not even talk about the bathroom—you’d think it’s a VIP lounge with my tiny shadow faithfully following me in there, too.

And yet, despite the chaos, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, one is a certified curmudgeon who looks at me like I’m the one inconveniencing him when I ask him to move over on the couch. Another has anxiety levels that would rival mine on a Monday morning, proving it by leaving no pillow unchewed. Then there’s the little one, my tiny bathroom buddy, who’s basically my fur-covered emotional support system.

But that’s the magic of it, isn’t it? They’re love—times three. Pure, uncomplicated, fur-shedding, pillow-chewing love. They make me laugh, they give me purpose, and let’s be real, there’s nothing better than curling up on the couch with all three on a cool autumn day.

So yeah, I ask myself why I have three dogs. Then I look at them—grumpy, anxious, clingy, and oh-so-sweet—and I remember. Because they’re family. Because they’re mine.