Toads-in-the-Hole

Okay. So, we got a dog.

A very big dog.

Ophelia is a fine example of a Great Pyrenees, a breed that began guarding sheep in Siberia and became all the rave in the French court of the 17th century. She is also, despite her refined character, manners, and beauty, a stray. She was deposited at our local shelter just before Christmas. Shortly after her arrival, she contracted parvovirus from another stray that was soon euthanized. Her illness was severe, primarily because she is, at an estimated 11 months of age, still a puppy. Her great size (she weighed 110 lbs. when she was dropped off, her illness winnowed her to 100 lbs.) saved her life, a smaller dog likely would have died or been weakened to the point of euthanasia.

Her size also brought her to us. She is a fine example of a found friend, coming unannounced to our lives, almost without expectation. "Almost" because we have often discussed getting a large dog (Aimee has long favored a Bernese Mountain Dog, which Ophelia is a ghost-like negative of) and, as luck would have it, two days prior to Aimee's seeing Ophelia's picture on the shelter's website,

we bought a minivan from her parents. The minivan gave us the space, both physical and mental, to consider cramming a dog into our lives. And, because we had the minivan, we were able to sell the poor old Grand Dame. We assumed ownership of the car just before we were married, and the car served us well on our round town errands and trips to Pikes Peak and Yellowstone, but a driveway full of three vehicles seems far too excessive. So, on the same day that Ophelia majestically walked into our lives, the trusty Pontiac drove off to a new life.

Our first night as Ophelia's new family went swimmingly. She's exceedingly polite, gently herding Adelaide around, fetching soiled laundry (and giving to the appropriate family member), and allowing Henry to crawl willy-nilly over her paws. This morning, Ophelia greeted Nine with a cheerful wag, to which Nine replied, "Hisssss ... Growwwwl." We're showing her the 'hood with frequent walks, and keeping tight grip on her collar and leash with new dogs and people. Ophelia rarely barks except twice, to alert us of rare, likely nefarious trouble in the homes behind our house. In fact, she can be soft and quiet that we're sure that she'll be a champ at our new favorite game Blind Man's Bluff.

So, if we Mirons seem a little bigger or a little hairier the next time we meet, you'll understand why.