On this day, Wednesday, three weeks ago, we got Magpie (she’s pictured above), a Border Collie pup we call Maggie. Which raises an important question: what happened to Luna? Well, that’s a long and sad story. So here goes.

Luna, the lovely and incredibly sweet yearling Husky, had a great first few days in our house. But then she started to get increasingly antsy, wouldn’t sleep at all, and often paced, back and forth, from one end of our manse to the other. I tried to combat this problem the only way I know: by giving her huge amounts of exercise, as her breed often requires. Let’s stop here for a moment so that I can, preemptively, call myself a racist. That said, I’d take Luna for a five- or six-mile run and then return home, expecting her to lie down and nap. Instead, she’d begin pacing. And if I didn’t take her back outside pretty quickly, she’d start howling while she paced. It was unnerving and upsetting. But we dealt with it. Because we’re stoic.

Actually, the real reason we didn’t panic is because we have lots of experience with special-needs dogs and rescue dogs. It seemed possible, even likely, that Luna was having a hard time with the transition into our house, which also contains two active kids. In other words, the manse is not a sedate place. So I started to give Luna more exercise. But she only got more agitated. I should note, before I forget, that we never left her alone. She came with me to work every day. And she’d pace around my office, howling periodically, and generally exuding stress all over the place.

It was heartbreaking, especially so because our older boy really loved her. And why not? She was, as I said above, incredibly sweet. As long as she was outside.

Eventually, after a month, we called the vet and inquired about anti-depressants — for the dog, not for me, though the latter would have been fine, too. The vet said it wasn’t a good idea to drug her. So we called in a dog whisperer (DW), of which there are many in Davis. You’d have to know Davis to realize how unsurprising the surfeit of dog whisperers here really is. Anyway, DW came to our house. She whispered. And for three hours she conducted all manner of tests: crating Luna; tethering her in one place for a few minutes, both inside and out; taking her for a walk; leaving her alone in the house for a few minutes; and some others that I’m forgetting. After finishing her assessment, she said, and I’m quoting, “In my twenty years of doing this job, I’ve only suggested this two other times: get rid of this dog.”

DW was pretty sure that Luna, prior to arriving at our house, had never before been inside. She had lived on the streets, most likely, and couldn’t handle being in an enclosed space — even one as capacious as our manse. DW followed up by telling us that, “Keeping her will drive her insane. It’s torture for her to be inside.” This news, I have to say, was not what we had hoped to hear. The older boy had just dealt with Hannah’s death. And now we were about to tell him that his new dog, who, despite the pacing and howling, was always very sweet, might not be able to stay. Beyond our worries about what this would do to his state of mind, we were concerned about two other things: the lesson he might learn about giving up on another creature, and also our sense of obligation to a dog that we had agreed would join our family. We talked. We talked some more. We petted Luna. She paced. And howled.

Finally we decided, with Luna howling and pacing in the background, that we would talk to the rescue service where we got her, and see what they thought about the situation. Oddly, the boy handled this really well. He was convinced that Luna was suffering in our house. And so, he explained patiently, it was our responsibility to find a better place for her to live. It helped that the rescue service assured us that we were making the right decision. So that was that. Or so we thought at the time.

But there was more. The boy, as you might guess, wanted another dog. We explained to him that it would be best to wait until his younger brother, who’s just over a year old, got a bit bigger. And then, when the older boy wasn’t looking, my wife and I would surreptitiously check websites for every dog rescue in California. Because we’re crazy people. Seriously, we completely lost our minds at this point. One minute we’d say, “What are we doing? We really need to wait. This is folly.” And the next my wife would call me over to the computer and say, “What do you think of this one? S/he’s good with cats. And cute, right? We really need a dog, don’t we?”

For all of our inconsistency, we were sure of one thing: we wouldn’t consider a puppy. Because puppies are too much hassle; they’re like having another baby. Then, three weeks ago today, my wife called me at work and told me to go look at this website. There was a really cute dog there that sounded great. I looked. The “dog” was a puppy. I accused my wife of treachery. She accused me of heartlessness. I got in the car and drove to Chico, where the puppy was being fostered. And of course I brought her home with me. I mean, did you look at the picture above this post?

As with Luna, Maggie slept in my lap the whole way down from Chico. As with Luna, when we got home the kids and Maggie made a big pile of cute. But unlike Luna, Maggie never paces. She never howls. And she seems really happy in our house and at my office. If I take her for a long walk, she goes to sleep right afterward, often for hours. The older boy loves her like nothing he’s ever loved before. Watching them sprint up our block earlier today, tripping over each other, made me laugh out loud (lol?). And the baby doesn’t mind being a chew-toy as much as I would have guessed. Maggie comes with me to work almost every day. She even sometimes joins me when I teach. She curls up and sleeps on my bag while I natter on to the bored undergraduates. They appear to be less bored because she’s there.

All in all, this seems like a happy ending to what began as a sad story. I still think about Luna all the time. And yesterday, the older boy and I had a long discussion about Hannah. He started to cry while we talked. Then he slipped off the bed and found Maggie curled up nearby. She rolled onto her back for a belly rub. And he cuddled with her as he sobbed. My wife and I were right; we really do need a dog.

And yes, I know, this is a lousy “This Day In History.” Sorry about that. Having Maggie is a bit like having another toddler. Once she grows up a bit, and no longer wakes up twice every night to pee, I promise to begin posting more regularly again. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this thought: Eric has a new puppy, too. Perhaps if you ask nicely, he’ll write “Blog Dog (part 2).” Or at least put up a picture.