Our new dog, Cassie.

Remember when we got a puppy, and that only lasted two nights? You don’t? Well, now you know.

After a few days to mull things over, I told Shannon that what I really wanted was another cocker spaniel. Lexie had made us fall in love not only with her, but with the entire breed. They’re pretty, personable, and despite some well-known health problems (ears and eyes), doggoned if they aren’t great pets.

Cockers fit in your lap, but aren’t so small that you lose track of them. They enjoy indoors and outdoors, and can walk along a sidewalk or on a rugged trail. The latter isn’t surprising, since they were originally bred to hunt woodcock (simmer down, now).

Shannon was more than amenable. In fact, she breathed a sigh of relief and got a bit teary-eyed. At about 9:30 the next morning, an e-mail arrived in my inbox. It was from Shannon, and provided a link to DFW Cocker Rescue, a non-profit organization.

At first, I was hesitant, because I didn’t want a psycho dog that was scared of milk pouring over mini-wheats. As I perused the site, though, I became enamored with several of the dogs described therein.

The Wednesday before (U.S.) Thanksgiving, I faxed in our application, with a dog named Cecily at the top of our list. Her foster mom, who described her as “the perfect dog,” set an appointment for the following Sunday at 10 a.m.

“I feel like we’re getting ready for a job interview,” I told Shannon.

As I pulled on my shoes, L arrived with Cecily right on time.

Cecily was sweet and playful in the house and the backyard. Foster mom, L, told us all about her and we filled her in on our background. Ben threw a few toys for Cecily to fetch, but I think he enjoyed getting away with throwing things in the house just as much as playing with the dog. For her part, Cecily leaped from the couch and over the coffee table to run and grab the toys. Ben laughed out loud at that; he hasn’t seen much dog athleticism in his time.

Key word here being “dog.” In our lives right now, we just didn’t need a puppy. Cecily, advertised as about three years old and fully housebroken, seemed like a good fit on paper, and we liked her in… ummm… person.

Apparently, we passed the litmus test, because L came right out and asked us if we would like to take Cecily as our own. We said, “Of course!” and she seemed happy about it (L, that is — I don’t think Cecily knew what was happening).

Shannon and Ben pose with Cassie.

Within an hour of making her our own, we loaded up in the convertible and headed to a local park. In a complete about-face, Ben loved riding with the top down. It was about 72 degrees and sunny, with a slight breeze — perfect convertible weather. Shannon and I alternated walking the pre-owned pooch and pushing Ben in the swings.

Cecily was great on the leash and served as a conversation starter. One thing about owning purebreds is that almost everybody either had a dog of that breed or knows somebody who did. Rarely will someone walk up to you and say, “Oh, how cute, my brother had a mutt.” Not that there’s anything wrong with mutts. They just don’t have the conformity of appearance that sparks vivid memories.

Next, we were off to PetSmart, another place where we could take Cecily. We grabbed a few things and then enjoyed the ride home, but not before Ben tossed his lemonade cup right over the side of the car and into the street.

Because Ben’s difficulty pronouncing the letter “L” gave him fits with her name, we altered “Cecily” to “Cassie.” We figured it was close enough that she wouldn’t miss a beat.

So far Cassie hasn’t whined or barked one bit, and she immediately chased the ball we bought. She loves snuggling close, can’t get enough of a good belly rub on her impossibly soft fur, and a bath didn’t seem stressful at all. We ate it all up and can’t wait for more.

Welcome home, Cassie.

Here are her “before and after” pictures, the former courtesy of L.