This weekend we got adopted by a dog.
When we met him at the shelter, he kept going back to Ian. He liked everybody, but Ian was clearly his favorite, and he got along with Emerson too, which is obviously essential.
At the shelter they were calling him Dustin, but no one there really thought it suited him.
We have a tradition that all of our dogs need to be named after streets in Minneapolis/St Paul, so obviously Dustin wasn’t going to work anyway.
Ian opened the Twin Cities atlas to a random index page – W. Then he saw the name. It made perfect sense; we already have Emerson, so why not another writer? And that’s how his name became Wordsworth.
He really loves to run through our snowy backyard. He doesn’t even care that it’s chest-deep in some places.
He was home with us for less than a day when something truly miraculous happened. He got Emerson to play. I cannot remember the last time Emerson played with another dog. It was only for a minute, but I can’t even tell you how much joy I felt upon seeing it. Emerson played with Wordsworth like he used to play with Selby. When it happened again later, I was ready with the camera. This is a game I call “Who’s the Boss?”
So far Wordsworth is winning, I think. I am so glad this boy found us.