June 15, 2011:  The oldest evidence of the domesticated dog in the United States was carbon-dated back to ten thousand years ago and found in Idaho at a pre-Colombian Native American site.  On an evolutionary scale, the dog has been around the planet about ten minutes longer than the Lassie series on TV.  I was always a Rin Tin Tin fan myself.

The dog is the only hunting predator in the animal kingdom that humans have successfully domesticated, making the "woofs" an integral part of the family unit.  Sometimes I try to think how this amazing relationship of mutual need ever came about.  Its origins still continue to baffle scientists and enthusiasts alike.

I hold the same high esteem for our first cave-dwelling ancestor who taught a wolf pup to fetch a stick as I do for the first guy to eat a clam.  In my opinion, two very moxie moves with an outcome that could have been literally gut-wrenching.

You all know I'm a typical boy-and-his-dog story.  I just love dogs, even the small walking swatches that folks carry around in their pockets or in their handbags.  I don't understand it, but in most cases I prefer the pocketbook stuffer than the person toting the bag.  Mostly, however, I like big dogs.  Big, roughhousing, eat-you-out-of-house-and-home, four-legged persons that you are aware of even when they are silent.

Most of you know I had to send my beloved dog, Buck, on the great journey.  It would have been selfish to watch him suffer just to have him around longer.  The piper was coming and we both knew it.  I took him to the ethereal escalator, staying with him until he was well on his way--the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  It was a decision I prayed I'd never have to make.

It is said that I can be testy.  Where folks get that idea is a mystery to me, but with Buck's absence around the house I found myself slightly out of sorts.  The responsibility of caring for another living soul had been removed, suddenly surprising me that it was missed.  I needed another companion around, not only to spend time with, but to help me write these stories.  After all, Buck could spell better than I.

I will always adopt a dog versus buying one from a puppy mill or even a breeder.  There are too many of "man's best friends" being tossed to the street, much like the banks are currently doing to homeowners.  I reviewed the many great dogs that my BHS friends had in the hopes of settling on a specific breed or even a mixed doggie.

Frank Pompea ('62) had a beautiful Irish setter named Brendan.  The problem with Brendan was that he was typically Irish and found ingenious ways to wander off, even to other towns miles away.  The police were always bringing him home in a squad car.  I found the backseat of police cars very uncomfortable, myself.  Brendan's roving wouldn't work in Florida.

The Clappiers had a black lab named Sambo, who could use a slide rule and take apart a carburetor.  In that house of geniuses, the dog had to be smart and draft blueprints with a smile. Labs were on the short list.

Cam and Kate Fairchild have the pugs known as "the Girls."  I love them, but if I tripped and fell, it would result in canine pancakes.  My girlfriend in high school had a swatch-like terrier named Chumley.  This dog loved seeing me, but only because he thought of me as a huge chew toy.  I would go home after dates with welts, leaving a blood trail behind.

I was back to white shepherds like Buck.  I contacted Echo Rescue on the web, finding they saved white shepherds from the needle.  They are all volunteers who even transport nationally.

On Sunday I'm driving over to Sarasota to pick up my new white shepherd friend, who will be renamed Ike.  He told me on the phone he is a Republican and prefers that name, so be it then.

Yes, I'm keen and nervous.  I'm in trouble if he can't spell.