Meet The Family, Pet Four

Ozzo. Another rescued animal in the house. I sometimes wonder if we rescue animals or they rescue us. I think it's a bit of both.

We had a friend who found Ozzo, brought him into her house, named him....something...I don't know. Her kids loved him; her big dog didn't. So she asked us to dogsit for a week, and then all of the sudden, we had Ozzo. He looked like a Black Lab puppy, and we were thrilled to have a big dog. We'd had a poodle, and I was ready for a, well, a real dog. So we took Ozzo.

And we waited for him to grow. And he did. A shade longer. A touch fatter. Not a bit bigger. Apparently our cute little Black Lab wannabe was actually part Daschund! WHAT? He wasn't going to be a big dog, a real dog; he was, to paraphrase Jack MacFarland, a "pocket dog. Slip him in a briefcase, a manpurse, a shirt pocket, and you're good to go."

Pocket dog. Who runs like the wind and leaps into the air for a rope toy or a frisbee. Tiny little lab-wannabe who chases the cats and loves you like nobody's business. Mini little f***er who goes bananas when the doorbell rings......on Frasier. TV doorbells make him nuts. TV. Doorbells. Who doesn't much care for other dogs unless they are ten-times his size. In Miami his best friend was a Saint Bernard; Ozzo looked like something a Saint Bernard would leave on a lawn. In Smallville, he befriended a Great Dane; he was no bigger than that dog's paw.

Pocket Dog.