+ 1

So, yeah, Sophie? The great dane-lab-mastiff mix with a terrible (but getting better) disease? She's ours. Her owner decided she couldn't handle the responsibility, financial and otherwise (I suspect the 2:30 a.m. pee walks may have factored in) of owning her, so gf and I, with the blessings of default dog-sitter, Ex, stuck out our paws and helped Sophie aboard the good ship Animal Explosion.
For anyone who's counting:

First there was Gretchen, now a wizened 16, my cantankerous gray tabby who came to me at 5 as a victim of the San Francisco housing market-- Her original owners decided a cat-free apartment was worth the trade. I would curse them, but I'm quite happy with the results of their selfishness. 1.

Then there was Lucas, a kitten saved from the mean streets of Bushwick, now almost 8. He has a problem with eating All Things Rubber and has had five enterotomies to remove foreign objects (ear plugs, door bumpers) from his gut. My home is now vigilantly patrolled daily for all suspect items. 2.

Then there were the dogs, sisters of a dumped litter, acquired with the ex when they were 12 weeks old. They were and always will be "the babies." 4.

Then there was Tink, a mere 3, a slightly brain-damaged stray I found as a kitten in my garden. Lord knows how he lasted as long as he did-- he can barely get through a day without chasing his own tail in a frenzy until he smacks his head against a wall. 5.

Then there was gf, with her rotten little rat terrier (who, to his credit, is finally learning to be a dog at age 12), Milo and her cat-in-a-black-fat-suit, Sven. 7.

And now, there is Sophie. 8.

The total animal poundage in this house is just over 300 pounds. They outweigh us.