dogged search

It's 24 hour dogs in my brain.  It's a little like applying to college.  I'm sending out applications, trying to sound like the perfect candidate, hoping they'll accept me.  Now I'm worried because one of my safety schools has accepted me, wants me to visit the campus this weekend and make a decision.  But the school I really want hasn't responded yet and I don't want to go with the state school when the ivy just might take me.  Oh, right, I was talking about dogs.

Here's Cappy (he's named Cappuchino, but my imaginary friend Barbara called him Cappy, which is much cuter than Puchi, which is where I was headed.  Oo, I could change his spelling to Capoochino and then it's funny instead of lame!).
He looks a little scared to me.  Understandable, I suppose, but I don't want a fearful dog.  They're unpredictable.  He's very cute, though, isn't he?  On the other hand, if I go see him Monday, and he's nice, I have to take him home.  Right then.  No hemmin' and hawin'.  And I'm VERY bad at making final decisions.

I'm hoping to hear back from someone about Blue:
  Look at her.  She wants to live with me.  She's an English Cocker, which Imaginary Barbara has also, so I'd have someone to answer breed questions for me.  I'd change HER spelling to Blu, so she'd be Blu Greenberg, who is a feminist Jewish scholar.  I mean really, what good IS a graduate education if you can't use it to re-name your dogs?  Or at least change the spelling.