Recently I decided to adopt a dog. (My rat terrier, Jessie, is so little that I don’t consider her a “real” dog.) So, I methodic- ally researched breeds for compatibility with my age, lifestyle, and temperament.  

I wanted an adult female to avoid the hassle of puppy chewing, housebreaking, and leg lifting on my garden flowers. Further, I wanted a medium-size dog as there's less poop to scoop, less food to buy. My choice: Australian shepherd.

Aussies are easygoing dogs, but I took Jessie with me to the shelter to make sure she wouldn't end up a delicacy on the lunch menu. She immediately embarrassed me by stress-pooping inside the facility when she heard the barking, yowling, and woofing cacophony behind the adoption area doors. 

The walk down the “green mile” nearly broke my heart. How tragic to see so many animals thrown away by uncaring or uneducated people. I wanted to save them all but I resolutely began my quest among the cells, uh, cages.

*Sweet pit bull terriers and rottweilers I nixed for fear my homeowners insurance might be cancelled.  

*The boxers and bulldogs I discounted because they drool, slobber, and often have respiratory problems.   

*No to an adorable schnauzer which got so excited it jumped straight up like a pogo stick so I figured she might jump the fence.  

*A black and white pointer would have made a funny Mutt & Jeff duo with Jessie, but hunting dogs may chase small animals and I’m owned by cats. 

*Hearing the bay of an indeterminate mix, I thought: Nope, don't want to listen to that.  

*A beagle bounced off the sides of its cage—too much energy for me. 

*Sadly, I passed on a lonesome coonhound. Droopy-eared dogs often get ear infections.  

*I shook my head at two mature labs—too sedate, although they probably had more sense than to fawn all over strangers.

Then I chanced upon a beautiful inhabitant regally ignoring the barking din. I bent down and she wagged her tail and nuzzled my fingers. So what did I bring home? A nine-month-old half German Shepherd and half Labrador Retriever!

I named her Mia (mine in Spanish). 

That queenly demeanor turned out to be a sham! Mia is a dufus. So far she has chewed my flip flops, trampled my daylilies, floods the floor when she drinks and disgusts Jessie when she pokes her big nose in Jessie's face.  

When Jessie indicates that she has to go potty, I ask, “Do you want to go OUT?"

Mia caught onto the concept quickly, but with a glitch—she associated the word “out” with actually relieving herself instead of going outside.

So when I ask, "Do you have to go OUT?," she promptly runs up to me, squatts and pees on the carpet. All with such a happy "Aren't I good?!" look on her face.  Puppyhood … Sigh. 

Footnote: Despite what I say, all these breeds make great pets. Over 10 million animals enter our nation's shelters each year. If you can’t adopt a dog, you can help by contributing time or money to your local shelter.

And, if you’re strictly a cat person? Cats need homes, too!