We live with a small zoo of assorted animals, with numbers that fluctuate so much it is hard to get an exact count, in a home that happens to be on the National Register of Historic Places.

Counting pets always causes a debate as to whether the feeder crickets (which are food for other pets, but we house and feed them like pets), the two nests of finch eggs that haven’t hatched yet, as well as the baby canaries that are on their way to being sold, should be included in the count. Thank goodness the dogs don’t have fleas, which would further complicate the answer!

Many people have asked, “Why so many pets?” I honestly don’t know, perhaps it has something to do with my growing up on a little farm in Oklahoma or maybe I just never learned to limit love. Whatever the reason, in addition to the pets, there are four energetic children bouncing around in our historic 1840s home.

When you first have children, the common advice is to pack away all fragiles until they move out. I’ve always wondered how to accomplish that when it’s the house itself that is priceless. Bubble wrap? Everywhere? What it definitely means is trying to teach the children what having a living museum for a home means. It causes some rather interesting discussions concerning how care should be taken since we can’t go to the store and simply replace that which is broken when the basketball suddenly (and by itself, of all miracles!) flies through the air and meets up with history.

The house gained its historic status by being a part of the Underground Railroad. The man who was the railroad conductor here owned the home in the 1850s and was the founder of the town’s first bank (which still existed until a few years ago), general store clerk, newspaper editor, a friend of Abraham Lincoln, general everyman, and do-gooder of our town.

Some would feel that a family actually living in the house is an inappropriate use for a building on the National Register of Historic Places. They are the ones who would open a stiff, cold museum of hushed voices and perfect restorations and spotless fixtures in the house.

We’re not perfect or spotless. We’re noisy and we spill juice and snort milk out our noses if we crack up at the wrong moment. In the mix of our lives is the occasional added commotion of pets that escape. As the gleeful escapee flies, flits, crawls, or hops through the historic rooms, the warning call is raised. Everyone available joins in energetic pursuit with a variety of nets, pots, cups, spoons, and anything else close at hand that can be used to catch the runaway.

Somehow the bustle and chaos of our lives that bounces off the walls seems more in keeping with the house’s history than if it were a museum. It has, after all, been a holder and protector of families for 172 years. My children and their friends playing chase and hide-n-seek through its halls keep alive the spirits of children past, children who played the same games, squealed with the same joy, and caught the ancestors of the lightning bugs my children now catch. On rainy Easters we have the greatest indoor egg hunts, with some eggs not found until months later (sometimes while chasing a runaway pet).

We walk the same floors that so many people before us walked. When we cry, our tears join with the countless oceans of tears the walls must have heard wept. Our laughter melds with the infinite waves of laughter that have lapped at the corners and crevices of this dear old house.

The house has a life, a beat of its own, that blends with ours in such a way that it has become like a member of our family (although, a very old member of the family!). I’m not really sure if the house has blended with us or if we have blended with it.

Someone once tried to make an offer on the house. I was so startled, I didn’t even ask what the offer was. This is home. It is not for sale. In a time and world where homes are only houses, thought of as investments and temporary, few understand my connection to this house and my dedication to its well being.

It often is said that times have changed, that values have been lost, that children know too much too soon. Perhaps that is true, but we lose only what we are willing to give up. We make a choice when nourishing our souls becomes secondary to investments and money making.

Oh, and the exact number of pets? We honestly don’t know, but we always invite visitors to count for themselves!