How I got my Not-a-Dog

I'm a kind person. I can say that with honesty. I've always felt pangs of sadness when I've seen another living being inflicted upon. I've wanted to go up and bandage the stray dog that has had its paw run over by a careless bicycle wheel. I've wanted to do many such things. However the courage had always evaded me. That's why, when I walked down to the local shelter and adopted a little dog, my impulsive behavior surprised me. Of course, I didn't have a choice, since I'd promised my daughter a puppy. Yet, this was an occasion where I could have invoked my parental "control," but didn't. 

Close-up of the button

Right now, she's lying next to me, her flat nose snuggled in the space between my body, hip, and elbow. Her snores bellow like those of a retired army captain who has had a few drinks. Every now and then, she adjusts her nose, moving it so that she can breathe, but still maintaining enough contact to enable the constant snore that so belies her form. I've always thought her nose looked like a large wooden button, the kind that fits on the front of a brown peacoat.

She's very funny, this dog. That's how she might be classified in Kingdom Animalia. To my eyes, looking past her nylon-fiber-like facial hair, all I see is a little girl, all of 3 years old.