This is Sam. That's the name he came with, and he responds to "Sammy." He is four months old, and seems already to be housebroken. He isn't the puppy that we were told about on Friday, someone else adopted him in the morning as we procrastinated, getting breakfast and taking junk from our yard to the Village clean up day.

The person who brought him to the shelter said he is black and tan hound and lab, but the shelter staff believes he is black and tan hound and border collie. He may be several breeds, who knows. He has mighty big paw prints to fill, and he is making inroads but has not quite won over Edna, or especially Sophie, but so far he has the makings of a very good dog. I am still sad, but then he bites my wrist with his needle teeth, instantly snapping me out of my grief. He makes me think about the future in a positive way, which is a good thing.