Pitter Patter of Paws

That old familiar "feeling" is starting to fester again, similar to the notorious biological clock that drives women of a certain age crazy with baby lust. 

Except my temptation has four legs, not two. I'm starting to lust after other greyhounds, imagining how it would feel to once again cuddle with a hound under each arm or walk with a waggin' wagon train of dogs in front. I'm wondering where I'd put the second food dish--next to the fridge or near the baker's rack? I'm envisioning extra pillows near my sofa and bed. I'm playing with names: I prefer monikers that start or end with a vowel, or have "Ls."  I'm picturing a companion for Hazel, a second needle nose for me to pepper with kisses, an extra set of velvety ears to rub.  

Not to mention, Golden State Greyhound Adoption is bringing in a haul of retired racing greyhounds from Florida on May 7. How convenient is that?  

However, I'm just a bit paranoid about the Second Dog Curse.  I adopted Olivia as a companion for Elvis, and three months later my beloved boy died of throat cancer. After one year, my broken heart felt ready for a second dog and I adopted Hazel as a companion for six-year old Olivia. And--you guessed it-- my sweet Olivia died of osteoscarcoma just six months later.

See where I'm going here? 

But really, what are the odds of that happening a third time? Plus, the payoff is so worth the risk, in spite of the extra work. Because there's no denying, there's work: it means housebreaking all over again, patting and sniffing the carpet for those dreaded wet spots. Stuffed toys and chew sticks scattered throughout the house. Extra shedding and double sets of paw prints on my shiny hardwood floors, which means double the vacuuming, double the mopping, not to mention double the food and vet bills.

And (be still my beating heart), double the love.