"Show Me The Way To Go Home"

A classic drinking song, really. Maybe that's what the 1920s were really all about, of course: drinking. Not at all surprising that so much good music came out of it as well. This one is not so great, really, as a song, but it's still a familiar tune, and there's a lot to be said for that, eighty years later.

I'm experiencing irrational dog desire.

Anyone can tell you that I'm not a big fan of our dog, Buford. He's a six-year-old beagle mix we adopted from a shelter last September. He's worked out much better than the dog we had before, Gala, a collie mix who now lives very happily with my in-laws. She was too big and active for us at that time. Now that my daughter's older, a dog in the general sense is a better idea. And Buford is a better size of dog for our urban home (yard, but not fenced in, on a main thoroughfare, but in a nice neighborhood with lots of trees). He's very sweet, very quiet (especially for a beagle), just wanting love.

I don't hate him, and we've developed an understanding of how things will work, for the most part. If he would stop tipping over the kitchen trash I'd be reasonably content with the situation, even if I can't really love him. I look at him and think: *This* is a dog? Surely a dog is one of the dogs of my childhood: St. Bernard, German Sheperd, Husky, Samoyed. A beagle just doesn't cut it.

Then I saw this ad in the paper on Friday. (It really is unfortunate that the garage sale section is always on the same page as the 'Pet Corner'.) The ad was for an Australian shep/keeshound mix, 3 years old, female, owner died. I couldn't get it out of my head. I talked to my husband, and we emailed about her Saturday night. They replied Sunday night, with a link to pictures. I hemmed and hawed, and got directions to the boarding location (an hour away!), and called for an appointment to see her (tomorrow!).

My in-laws have refused to take any more of our dog cast-offs, and this is a good thing. I know that wanting this dog is wanting my childhood in some sense, and that is a neutral and natural thing. I know that I don't have to act on this, and that it will be difficult to see this dog and not take her home if she is reasonably suitable. I strongly suspect that Buford would love to have a friend, the cats just aren't responding to his attempts at friendship. Two dogs will not be that much more difficult than one, though it will be more expensive. My husband is leaving the decision entirely up to me. I still feel insane to be doing any part of this.

Maybe I'll call in the morning and cancel. Maybe this time tomorrow we'll have two dogs. Argh! Woof!