In the years since I became a homeowner, I've found a long list of things that set you apart from the person you thought you'd be in high school. 

Did a teenage me dream of walking around the house with a spackle knife with just a tablespoon of mud left on it, thinking "I know there's got to be somewhere I can use this"? Sixteen-year-old me is cringing at the very thought. 

That I now get excited to share that a particular appliance has a "delay" cycle to allow for better timing with daily life or that I've used the terms "obsessed" and "caulk" in the same sentence on more than one occasion are both reasons for the young, hopeful version of me to disavow her future. 

This is all par for the course for homeowners the world over, a stage reached by adults who have come to accept that they have a favorite screwdriver, and when it goes missing, it can have a particularly strong effect on their demeanor for the day. 

But there's a very particular segment of the population that bases more than a small part of their home ownership decisions on how it affects their dogs. 

They're the types of people who look at real estate listings and immediately gauge whether the yard has enough room for running in circles when a case of the zoomies sets in. 

They're the people who can only envision moving if the new house has the means to install either above-ground or invisible fencing. 

They put off home renovations because they worry their cats aren't in the right frame of mind for disturbances in their space. 

They consider whether or not painting is wise based on whether or not it's both warm enough and cool enough for their dogs to spend time safely and happily outside while it dries. They may or may not have at least one smeared wall in their home from the last time they tried adding a fresh coat of paint without first checking the weather. 

These people are my people. 

Even high school me would like them.