If I were going to write a self-help book, it would be called Puppies!
One of us is an international man of mystery, one of us is a provincial woman of frumpery. We are both wearing sweaters.
We're not sure yet what his name is. I'm partial to Peanut or Scamp or Poodle, but the yachtsman isn't having any such cuteness: He's been advocating for Eugene or Gerhardt, gott help us. The pup came with the name Luke, which has its merits, namely that when I call him I'll sound like Aunt Beru when she's calling to Luke Skywalker (although if you follow that one through, I'll soon be killed by Imperial Stormtroopers and Luke will take off with Obi Wan and a couple of droids), and the yachtsman can one day gaze into the dog's eyes and say, "I'm your father, Luke," although the conclusion to that scene might be the dog plummeting off into space to avoid that horrible truth. We're open to suggestions, if you have any.