Meet Atticus. He's our new dog. Our new puggle, to be precise. He's a few-year-old pug-beagle mix, and he came from the same rescue shelter as Deacon. I'd met him about a month ago and fallen in love, but Ben was still unsure if we were ready for another dog. We decided to hold off. Then Martha from the shelter calls a week or so ago, saying that lots of people had come in to see him (puggles are all the rage), but she wasn't convinced any of them were quite right for this guy. What's more, she was sure he was the right dog for us. Her opinion holds some weight in this household (she is the woman responsible for our having Deacon, after all), so Ben stopped by the shelter and melted accordingly. These last few days we've been readying ourselves and our house for one Mister Atticus. The world of small dogs is new to us - he's less than half the size of his predecessor. But he's not a little yippy thing; he seems to have more in common with a pot belly pig, what with all that grunting and snorting. (edited to add: and snoring. But cute snoring.)
And now the phrase I love so much: it's time to take the dog for a walk.