Never look them in the eyes!

Puppy Love...

"Vhat do you want to do?" my beloved Austrian bride Dagmar asked me last Friday. "Shall ve go for lunch? Or shall ve eat at home?"

"I have an idea," I said. "Let's go to the Humane Society. They're open today."

"You're hungry for hot dogs? HAHAHAHAAA!"

I grabbed the car keys and headed for the door. "Well, you've been talking about getting a dog, why don't we go look at a few and find out what kind of puppy we might want?"

"Okay," she said. "I only have an hour for lunch, so ve have to hurry."

A few minutes later we were walking in the front door of the Humane Society. "Remember," Dagmar said to me, "don't look them in the eye. Never look a puppy in the pound in the eye."

Not too many minutes later we were sitting in an office signing papers, proud owners of Zora, a smallish brown dog of indeterminate heritage. (We've since altered her name to Zoey, just 'cause we like it better.)

So now we're trying to integrate a one-year-old dog into our little household, learning her foibles. So far she's been a fantastic pooch -- we even took her to the local Renaissance Faire the day after we adopted her and she did fantastic walking on the leash, dealing with other dogs...








The cat's reaction to all this? Laughter, mainly. "You have GOT to be kidding me! You're letting THAT thing sit on the couch?"