I never wanted the dog. Don’t misunderstand, I love dogs, pretty much all of ‘em, but I was so sure I wasn’t (at 53) grown-up enough to have a dog. I rent my abode (more about that later), I am single and childless. The thought of being responsible for a dog was just overwhelming. Impossible.

Then my sister’s family moved from a house with a yard to an apartment. They weren’t able to take Chico, my niece’s dog, he weighs 40 pounds and the cut off for dogs in the building is 30 pounds. Since there were no likely takers near them in DC, I said I would find him a home here in my small town in New Hampshire.

That (no surprise) is not how it turned out.

On our first visit to the vet, Chico snapped at her and wouldn’t back down. “You can’t give this dog to just anyone,” she advised. “He needs training or he could turn into a dog that will have to be euthanized.”  OK, I just couldn’t let that happen to my dear niece’s dog.

So I decided to find a trainer and keep the dog until he calmed down a bit.

It’s been almost two years and we’re still together. In fact, my mission has become to see how many places I can go with this dog. How big can I make his world? How well can I socialize him?

This blog tells our story.