Mathematical fact : 1 child = 5 dogs

…which means I own ten metaphorical dogs.

Our twinkly eyed builder once posited an equation that trumped anything Einstein ever bothered a chalkboard with.

1 child = 5 dogs

When he shared it, our kid was a new born. Barely a child, more a hairless potato wrapped in muslin. So the equation felt theoretical, not yet applicable.

But as our two potatoes grew into a real live boys, the equation began to make sense.

Think about it. Children are a lot like dogs.

They fill your house with constant noise. While they don’t bark, most of what comes out their mouth is a similarly indecipherable racket — drivel and dribble in equal quantities. Like dogs, they’re completely oblivious to the time of day, thinness of our neighbour’s walls, or the delicious wonder of silence. When the kids aren’t around, it’s the quiet I notice and appreciate most. I like to luxuriate it in, steep in it, and let the fan belt of my nervous system whirr to a stop.

Children are also like dogs because of their unfortunate habit of defecating anywhere without even a modicum of shame or concern for the person who has to scrape their excretions into a dangerously thin plastic bag. By my calculations, I’ve probably hunched over north of 2000 turds since becoming a dad, and it’s not getting any more fun. The silver lining on this poop shaped cloud, is that unlike dogs , kids graduate onto actual flushing toilets, and so my days of cradling warm faeces will mercifully end.

Kids and dogs also share a common love of parks. Specifically of running around them in every sort of weather, while their mum and dad, slowly bore themselves to death. Maybe I’m just a cynical middle aged git, but parks are about as interesting as watching paint dry. And at least with the latter, I can huff fumes and try to score a faint buzz.

The final reason I’m the proud owner of ten dogs who are actually two children is their ceaseless, wallet-emptying appetite. Their tummies are a chasm that ten thousand bags of chicken nuggets will fail to fill. Every time I turn around there’s a child camped out at the end of my legs. Staring up at my doe-eyed with their paws cupped, waiting for me to drop down a snack like a human vending machine. Oh yeah and like dogs they treat our floor like a giant wood dinner plate, leaving a trail of crumbs everywhere.

But here’s the kicker, like dogs, kids grow older faster than you ever imagined. So despite the unending madness, mess, and noise, damn right you’ll miss them when they’re gone.