Today, I got a dog. Her name is Emma. She’s a three-year-old Jack Russell mix I adopted from the Town Lake Animal Center (her name at the Center was Lilah. I have nothing against the name Lilah, but I prefer Emma). She’s super affectionate yet fiercely independent. So far, I haven’t heard her bark, but I’m sure I will. So far, I haven’t let her roam my enclosed backyard off-leash, but I’m sure, in time, I will. I’m her third owner. The counselor at the Center speculated that she may have a secret life as an escape artist, so until I’m certain that she cannot get out I’m not going to leave her in the backyard unsupervised.

Some thoughts about Emma: she is almost the same coloring as my former dog, Miles; her tail is curly; she’s skinny, like me, but I’m sure that will change soon because I’ll probably give her treats just for wagging her tail (not really, settle down); she’s got long legs and two people think she’s got some Greyhound in her; I like her a lot; the kids like her a lot; and, perhaps most importantly, she seems to find the three of us to be fairly tolerable company.