My Family's Obsession with Pets

Many families try to give their kids a normal childhood by having a family pet. My family, however, went a little overboard. We had horses, goats, cats, birds, dogs and fish. All were eccentric, and all had people names. If it’s one thing my family was great at, it was picking animals.
When we lived out in the country, we had a horse named Sam. I was too young to know much about caring for a horse, but I insisted on helping. My way of helping feed Sam was grabbing a handful of hay and dropping it over the fence for him. Not much, but I'm sure he was appreciative for such an effort to be made on his behalf. Then we had two dogs. Otis was an Australian Shepard, who I used to call a “little genius”, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Otis was not a genius; Otis was a psycho. He liked to try and herd people/animals/things, and was constantly unnerved at all times. He was like an veteran with PTSD. When you looked at him you could tell he was mentally unstable. To scratch his ass he used to drag it underneath the bumper of my dads Ford pickup, howling in a crazy, perverted whine. Then there was Dutchie: a big buffed-out Rottweiler. Not much that I can say about her; she kicked ass. Robbers, mean people, stray cats, back the fuck off. Dutchie is on guard.
Then there were our goats. My brother and I were given two goats as Easter presents. I named mine Billy. Not named after “Billy Goat,” because I was much more original, even as a 6 year old. He was named after the blue Power Ranger, who coincidentally, I had a crush on. Billie had his own stuff going on, also a bit disturbed, but more importantly, was an escape artist. We would put him in the back pasture, and instead of staying there like a well behaved goat (whatever that is), he would escape through the fence and run about the land, doing as he pleases. 
Also, we’ve had history of weird cats. Out of all the crazies we had one that took the cake: a Siamese named Charlie. He was a sneaky bastard. He had a habit of hiding under beds and attacking our feet, viciously digging his claws into them. Eventually he earned himself a bell collar, an act of deterrence so we could hopefully hear exactly where he was at all times. He was also territorial. He would beat the shit out of any cat that dared to step onto out property. This even included the kittens of our other cat, Sabrina. Sabrina was my cat. She was a whore cat who was always hookin' around the neighborhood. If she was a human, she’d be a regular on Maury Povich. Whenever she had a litter of kittens, none of them resembled Charlie; every litter was different (just sayin’). Sadly, Sabrina met her fate when my mom ran over her....while I was in the car.
Now, this magnificent pack of animals were not just eccentric, they adored me and my brother. Every morning, we would walk out to the bus stop at the front of our long driveway. Both goats, both dogs, both cats and all the kittens would follow us out and wait with us. Dutchie would do her job by chasing the cars that went by, as if they were some kind of threats to us. Soon, they learned what time our bus got home and would subsequently wait for us so that they could assist us back to the house. Just imagine that sight as a bus driver: here are these two oakie kids with an army of odd animals surrounding them, and waiting for them when they were being dropped off. Quite the site.
When we moved, we took the cat and our two dogs with us. We moved to a house with significantly less running room. Dutchie adapted. Otis spiraled further into his psychoses. He. Lost. It. He paced the yard, barked at nothing, and started taking his anger out on me and my brother. So, needless to say, he went buh bye. Charlie managed to escape out our back door when my grandfather left it open. He was gone for 8 months. For those 8 months, I, although worried, felt safe knowing I didn't have to worry about a stealthy Siamese cat attacking my feet. 8 months later my parents spotted him seemingly commanding an army of strays, and, compelled to re-domesticate him, hell has been present in my household ever since.
Since then, we had another pug named Lucy, a fish (Brian), another pug George, a bird (rico) and two Welsh Corgis named Louis and Toby Keith. Lucy, was in love with my father, and had it out for me. After a while, I would deliberately harass her, by doing things that she thought that I shouldn’t do. My favorite was slapping the coffee table, as if I wasn't supposed to. She would launch herself off the couch, and jump at me with her mouth open- prepared to rip my flesh off. How dare you defy me and slap the coffee table! 
Brian was my dearest and most favorite fish. He was a survivor. He survived longer than any goldfish should (about 4 years), and lived an incredibly dramatic life. Brian learned to recognize me. He would pop up out of the water and make little fishy blooping sound. I would stick my finger in the water and he would suck on it- probably because he thought it was food, but I choose to believe he did it out of shear love and worship for his owner. He had several near death experiences where he would go belly up, but act completely normal when I changed his water. His favorite snack was de-skinned peas. I had no problem de-shelling tiny frozen peas for him to eat. One day I came home from school to find my Brian laying belly up in a cup by the sink. My mom saved him for me so I could give him a proper and personal burial down the toilet.
We originally thought Rico, our cockatiel, was a boy. Having just seen Napoleon Dynamite, my dad named her Rico. One day, to everyone's surprise, Rico laid an egg. Apparently birds adopt their family as their flock, so to her we’re just giant featherless birds. In addition, they choose mates from those among their flock and they mate for life. Seeing how my dad was the only male in the household , he was chosen by Rico to be her life-long mate. She lays eggs for him, expecting him to fertilize her/them (I don’t know how that stuff works) so that they could have deformed human bird children. She sings to him, and calls out for him. When my dad whistles or calls back out to her, she sings back in pure happiness. Like any good bird wife, Rico has learned the sound of his truck. When his truck pulls into the drive way, she screams for him. She performs mating rituals with her branches and I'm not sure if I want to know what is going through her tiny skull at that moment. She also hates my mom. Rico hisses at her every time she walks by. Rico is attempting to claim what is rightfully hers and is letting my mom know to back the hell off of her man. My Mom, sensing this, also hates her.
My current three dogs, George, Toby Keith, and Louis are stars in their own right, and could probably have their own series.