Apparently, we don't have enough chaos in our little family.  What with a 17 year old who has been taken over by aliens and a smaller version of the same who the aliens have their eye on (because these aliens only have one eye each, mind you, and it's right in the middle of their green, wrinkly foreheads)....  With trying to manage our shrinking family budget due to the cutbacks and furloughs and the shortening of the school year and a water bill that has required taking out a second mortgage...  And with the driving.... to practices and tournaments and kid related, always kid related events that are too numerous to mention... and trying to write the book proposal for the book that is still being written....

No, apparently we needed something else to do.

A week ago our Shadow passed away.  He had had a good life.  A long life.  A sixteen year life with us filled with fun and frivolity and camping trips and walks and scraps from the table (shhhh, don't tell our vet) and even a nip or two out of a friendly postman (sorry Shawn) and a very compassionate FedEx guy...  It was a good life, a happy life, and a very long life, especially for a dog.  And so it was time.  And we are sad.  Very, very sad because we miss him.

But nobody misses him more than her.

She moped.  And she cried.  And she pouted.  And she lay on the couch and moped some more.  And I have to confess, I was a little surprised.

When Katie came to live with us, the idea was to get a friend for Shadow.  Someone he could play with.  Hang out in the back yard with when the humans were doing what humans do.  And it was a good idea except that Shadow didn't play.  "I'm old," he'd say to her when she'd lick him on the nose in the morning.  "I'm old and my bones hurt.  I can't run and jump and rastle like I used to.  I think I'll just sit here and watch you play." 

And so Katie lay next to him.  Licking him lovingly each morning when they woke up, side by side on the same bed even though there was another just one foot away.  They preferred to sleep together.  They were buds.

And now he's gone and she's sad.  Very, very sad.

"We need a friend for Katie," the principal said after a few days of moping.

"We need a friend for Katie," said the 17 year old alien upon heading out to yet another baseball tournament. 

"We need a friend for Katie," said the younger version as he poured himself a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch. 

Who am I to argue with the consensus?

"Can we test drive him?" I asked Abby, the Big Dog Rescue rescue person as we stared blankly at this big pile of orange fluff.

"Of course," she said cheerfully.

"And is there a return policy?" I wondered under my breath knowing full well that returning him would not be as easy as the too small shorts from Costco or the one too many bottles of Caeser salad dressing.

"Sure," she nodded.  "If he doesn't work out, you can bring him back."

Yeah right.

That was four days ago, and he's still here.  We're getting to know each other.  He's sweet all right.  Fluffy and dorky and very, very raw.  He's romped a bit with Katie, although she's clearly moving slowly in the approval department.   He hasn't slept for more than 10 minutes at a time, choosing instead to pace, round and round the house, as though he is on watch, waiting for something that never happens.  And he eats.  Non stop as though there is never going to be enough food.  But hey, I'm used to that.

And apparently, he likes butter.  Whole sticks of butter.  And five layer dip.