We almost got a dog this weekend.

We found him at an adoption shelter in Brooklyn.
He was adorable. And perfect. And an English Bulldog.
And the name that we've been using when referring to our future Bulldog?
That was his name.
We were 95% sure that it was meant to be. And I almost told the shelter that, before I stepped back, assessed how that might come across, and decided to be less weird.
Which might not have been the best plan, because our dog went to a different home.
And it's a good thing that he has a home.
But yesterday was a little sad for me.
Because anyone who knows me understands that I develop an unhealthy level of attachment to people/animals/things in a matter of days/hours/minutes.

But we're looking. And we'll find him soon enough.