I am not an animal!

but I certainly have enough of them living with me: Two dogs, a cat, two rabbits, a couple nice sized goldfish, and a rather large red eared slider (turtle).
My parents rarely let me have pets, and outside of the parakeet, the ones I did have were always given away "to a nice man with a farm" or let go in the wild. The folks were never animal people with a few exceptions, i.e. my mom loved wild birds, and the old man warmed up to the parakeet, so it was never hard for them to dispose of the pets when they became their nuisance.
"A boy and his dog" was more like "That boy and his goddamned dirty dog" in my household. Both dogs that I had for such a short spell were not allowed in the house, and were chained to a stake, accompanied but raggedy dog houses. My dad despised them more than mom, so when grueling cold weather set in, she would be the one to have me put them in the garage "without telling your father." The female I owned, Rosey, was a beagle/something/something mix, and was never fixed. Needless to say, stray males would get a whiff of her and show up in the wee morning hours fighting, howling, and mounting. That was her downfall, being a non-spayed  female, by God we won't stand for it kind of dog. And so, upon my arrival back from school one crisp October day (yes I still remember 40 years later), I saw a bare chain on the ground with no dog attached. In the house I went, yelling that we must all go look for Rosey, that she broke loose. "Oh no" says my mom, "I called a nice man who has a farm and he came and got her. She will live and play happily there from now on." Of course some years later, I come to find that the "Nice Man" was the high kill shelter just outside of town.
The male I owned after Rosey was named Dusty. Without going into detail, he basically met the same fate. He lasted a shorter period than Rosey, and this time I knew his time was coming. My mom was jealous because I "spent more friggin' time with that fleabag than I did with the family." Now remember people, I was a young lad at the time, so on the night before he was to be taken by another "Nice Man" I sang my rendition of Harry Nilsson's (I Can't Live if Living is) "Without You" to him. Hearing this song today would still make me emotional all these years later. Songs remind us all of a certain time, place, someone or something. The old lady tells me I'm a rough, tough cream-puff. So be it!
The rabbits that I somehow acquired off and on never lasted long either, but this time the "Nice Man" didn't get called, Dad just loaded them up, took them and I for a ride, and dropped them off by the side of the road in the middle of a wooded hollow. "They'll be fine" he said, "look at ll the green stuff there is for them to eat!" Yep, that made me feel so damned much better.
I now compensate, and have been for many years, by surrounding myself with animals. My kids were lucky growing up, they always got the pets they never asked for. They didn't have to.