Oh wait.
I AM getting a new puppy!
Dog, actually. A four-year-old lady boxer, currently named Pixie. It means making a three-hour trek to the north shore of Long Island (hiya Jude) and then three hours back...putting me right through metropolitan NYC at rush hour on a Friday evening. It means upsetting the calm and routine that has settled in our home (now that Clutch isn't throwing his considerable weight around, Billy gets nice juicy marrow bones and as far as he is concerned, that's a fair trade). It means having twice the slobber, hair, and muddy paw prints everywhere.
Why am I doing this?
For the same reason I do most things that make no sense. Because I have to.
