Baby blogs are puking up all over the place.
This one’s for the rest of us.

True, I’m still single, but I’ve been in a committed relationship for 17 years. With Keeper—the Ankle-Biting Terrier.

I found him in the woods in South Carolina, a soft blond beanbag of squishy love and permanent black eyeliner. I was 22, still experimenting with careers and crashing at home, and when my mother saw the bundle wrapped in sweatpants she said, “He’s cute. You can’t keep him!”

No, that’s not where the name came from. Keeper was the first dog I had the chance to raise from infancy. I just knew he’d grow up to be a remarkable specimen of obedience and allegiance, but just to make sure I read all the right books, talked to experts, and took weeks to settle on the perfect name.

At the library I came across a sweet story about Emily Brontë and her mastiff named Keeper, loyal companion to the reclusive writer who lost her mother and siblings in childhood, later bestowing Wuthering Heights upon the world. When Emily died at 30, Keeper was grief stricken, following her coffin to the grave, sulking at her bedroom door for weeks.

Touching, isn’t it?

Only years later, after Keeper II unfurled his murderous wrath upon me, did I learn that Keeper I had a violent streak, too, practically dismembering anyone who attempted discipline in his younger years.

But more on biting the hand that feeds him in future entries…

So why center a website around an erratic old dog? Because we’ve been through everything together, Keeper and I. Half a dozen relationships and nearly a dozen moves. Chicken pox at 34 (me). Benign tumor removal (him). Arthroscopic knee surgery (me). Near-fatal rat poison ingestion (him). And the loss of TJ, one truly remarkable Chihuahua (both of us).

Recently it hit me: Finding Keeper marked the beginning of my adult life and altered its course forever. He inspired me to become a foster mom to other dogs, re-think my diet, never miss the chance to go walking, and consider what unconditional really means. Sometimes it means being bitten (badly) and continuing to love.

So I figured I’d chronicle some dog crazy.