When I was pregnant with our oldest, back in 2003, I was a pinch-hitter for N’s dog sitter. The dog sitter just started a day job, and N wanted me to come in the middle of the day to check in on her pack. And we’re talking pack–there were five dogs ranging from a geriatric Great Dane mix to a pair of Beagles. She dropped off the spare set of keys with me and off they went on vacation. I’ve been to her house plenty of times (Fort Knox, home-slice style), so I was well aware of the intricate order in which I had to gain entry. But I stood…