There’s nothing wrong with my old dog, except that she is unlucky thirteen years old, never recovered fully from a coyote attack, refuses to hike more than a few miles at a time, and snoozes while jackrabbits clearcut my gardens. Add to this that we have two young daughters constantly in need of photo opportunities, and it became pretty obvious that it was time for a new puppy on the Ranting Hill. Now, I’ve always owned mongrel bitches that I fetched from the pound for a few bucks and a promise to spay.