When I was waddling around with the little one in my tummy months ago, we were constantly peppered with 'kindly' advice. We should put the dogs out when the baby comes, not good for the baby, etc etc.
We smiled and nodded, which was a lot easier than going into a spiel about how the dogs were my only consolation all that time ago when Daddy worked away, how they kept me company and consoled me with their boundless love (and idiotic tendencies) and how they kept us sane throughout.
We nodded at everyone and anyone with the same advice over and over again, which came up to roughly a gazillion nods.
Our plan was wait and see when the baby comes. If he had negative medical reaction to the tyrants and all their fur, then we would have to put them out or at least separate them. Thankfully he did not.
Recently we attended a few gatherings, and more than one person remarked upon how friendly and un-fussy the little one is. "Must be result of growing up with dogs", they ooh-ed and aah-ed and coo-ed.
I smiled at that, when actually I so very badly wanted to smirk.