This is "Que," a Chinese Shih Tzu who adopted us on one moist morning. He was skinny and wet when he showed up at our back gate. No telling how long he had been on the road. We put ads in the paper and information at the pound and Humane Society. No one came up with the right combination of, "Male, about five years old, well-mannered, doesn't recognize authority of larger dogs." I tried to adopt him out, but Margarita was busy falling in love with him.

Her frequent comment to him was, "You're so CUTE!" I ran with it and called him "Que." Naturally, that was his first name. I decided his surname was "Fah." In the Chinese convention, which I learned in the throes of a pen-palship in the seventh grade, his official name was "Fah Que." Read into it what you will.

When he came to us we had three other dogs. Pretty close to the limit. He was a treat, and the last of the four to expire. We had him for about twelve years. When he left us I thought that should be the last of it. No more animals in my home. No more dependents. No more unwanted responsibility. It didn't work. We missed a little presence in the house, and it became my duty to check the adoptables in all the places around town, every morning.

One day at the Humane Society I saw our next dog stretching his neck to see who was coming and going around his cage. And then there was E.T. That's another story.

I expect to add pages as the animal stories and photo scans accrue:

Que, with Pshaw and Mollie.

• Mollie, retired Sheltie breeder
  
• Pshaw, the Border Collie-Cardigan Welsh Corgi
• Brandy, Pshaw's purebred Corgi mom (Winsdown Black Displash)
• Zip, the most cheerful of all, a prototype for dogginess, and a psychic
• Scooter, a gift from sister Sandy, durable and clever
• Paladín, smart, too smart for his own good:
  
• Jet and Taffy, Cocker Spaniels of short tenure
• Queenie, a Dachshund who came and went
• And, a Boston Terrier of whom I have been told

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