Three weeks ago yesterday, Eric and I adopted a dog. He is a ten-month-old Catahoula. We drove about an hour and a half north to visit with him and his foster human (a sweet young woman who looked as if she had stepped from the canvas of a Pre-Raphaelite painting), and we left with papers signed, pup in hand (so to speak). We christened him Booker Theophilus. Booker after the great abolitionist Booker T. Washington and Theophilus after beloved Faulkner character Theophilus McCaslin. We call him Booker. Or Booker T. Or Puppers (when he’s super sweet, which is often). Or Speckled Pup (again, when he’s being real, real sweet). Or, most often, Gator Snapper (when he is on his back, flailing about with his mouth open like an old hungry gator, inviting us to play). He is a delight, and a great reason to get up early in the mornings for a walk in the backyard.