Working for a dotcom that has thus far weathered the storm, I still have one of the more enviable perks of a company car. This post isn't about the car. It's about puppies.

I had to take the car in at some ungodly a.m. hour the other day to get the bellypan replaced. While I waited, a man drove up in a 10 year-old Porsche (I know this because he had to tell them that he bought it in 1989, not because I know anything about cars) and had to leave the motor running because the battery would die completely if he turned it off. As I zoned off looking around and waiting my turn to sign in my car, I noticed a fuzzy little head peaking over the window in the Porsche. I looked closer and, sure enough, there was a puppy in there. I looked quizzically at the owner, and he launched into his proud-new-papa spiel about his 7-week-old Golden Retriever. I was happy to listen, as I haven't been around a puppy in ages, and he obviously took such joy in the little guy. He brought the puppy out for petting, and I was more than happy to oblige. See, my grandma used to have a golden retriever called Puddles (for reasons you can probably guess), and next to Daisy, she was the best dog our family has ever had.

Anyway, as the minutes ticked by and more and more people showed up faster than the two service guys could process them, I could see quite a bit of consternation and impatience at the thought of the time spent waiting to sign cars in and for the shuttle to show up so that they could move on with their busy, busy days. When this gentleman brought the puppy back from a walk, though, the mood lifted even as the rain started coming down again. There is no denying the appeal of a warm fuzzy enthusiastic bundle of fur, no matter how anti-pet you might be.

On that note, Dean and Gail celebrated their own three month old.