When?

It has become a topic. I would say a topic of conversation but it doesn't last that long.  Usually it's skated over quite quickly. It's more of a smash and dash just in case I freak out. People are asking and offering opinions, though, on when I'll be getting another dog and what sort of dog that will be. It's a neat way to find out how people see you...and your dog.

NDP and I talked and talked on the night that I got Emily back. She told me she misses Hudson, not less certainly, but less acutely, perhaps, because there is another German Shepherd in the house. Since there is no younger yellow dog at her feet she finds herself still longing for Charlie. She also mentioned, when I told her of my long time Great Dane fetish, that a local trainer is active in Dane rescue.

Zelda has said a couple of times that she sees a smaller dog for me. Maybe a Boston Terrier or a French bulldog. I did enjoy Spock...when he wasn't trying to run me off his ranch.

One of the guards here stopped me the other day, "I miss seeing you out with your dog." "Me too," I told him. "You need to get yourself one of those," and he gestured with his hands just so far apart, "German Shepherd puppies. A little one."

All my life animals have found me. My first cat was hiding in the engine of the family van. Heck, my parents' first pair of felines were, if I'm getting the story right, somehow "liberated" from a neglectful neighbor. Emily was the ultimate found pet, she was delivered almost directly into my lap and I don't know what that voice was in my head but it doesn't get much clearer than something inside you telling you your dog's name.

I broke that rule once. I was in my thirties, I guess I thought I needed somehow to start taking charge of my life. My next door neighbor was doing a lot of cat rescue and had 4 cats in her tiny apartment. When she came up with a 5th who was soft and pretty and friendly to a fault I fell for it and didn't wait for her to ask for my assistance I just stepped right in and said I wanted that cat. Eventually we came to call that one The Mad Carlotta. One evening not long after she came to stay, while collecting my laundry, I backed up and accidentally tread on her. That fucking cat sunk all her claws into me and started to bite my calf repeatedly. I didn't want to shake her off because my skin would tear but I couldn't reach down to grab her or she could get a wrist vein and I might not come out alive. It sounds ridiculous but I was petrified. I don't know how I managed to unhinge her because, frankly, she made it clear that the altercation would be over when she had the leeway to walk slowly away over my lifeless corpse. When I did, though, I grabbed the cordless phone and hid in the bathroom afraid to come out with blood dripping down my leg. My mother's diagnosis was, "She needs to be outside, running around." The Mad Carlotta lives on my mother's block now, sometimes with my mother, sometimes with a family down the way, sometimes in a garage with a family of skunks. She still remembers me when I come to visit and wants some love but, you know, only as much as she can handle. My cats are her offspring which makes them, I suppose, another two who found me from the great beyond.

Understandably, to my mind at least, I am trying to trust in the way it's worked for about 40 years now. I will have a dog again, I promise. Don't worry, OK? I don't know yet when it will arrive or what sort of dog it may be. I'm happy to talk about the possibilities but I'll also tell you why I'm not putting a ton of energy into it right now. I would love any dog that showed up right now the way I love Bobby and Ben and Ally and Tim and Diego and The Buce and all the others. I would not, however, be able to forgive that dog for not doing it "right." That's unfair to me and to the hypothetical dog. I'm willing to wait a bit to keep that from happening.

In the mean time, though, feel free to share your thoughts about what kind of dog you think should find me. I'm taking it all under advisement.