Overthunk

Eleven years ago, except for when I was a kid, I'd had nothing but cats. I'd moved out of a roommate situation, amicably, but into my own space, the first apartment I'd had just to myself. My cat, a fluffy Himalayan, had passed a few months ago, and I decided I wanted a dog. No one I knew had a dog. All my friends were cat people. Yet the idea persisted: a black pug was the dog for me. "Dogs take so much attention," the cat people warned me. "Are you sure?" Yet I searched on. I found a breeder. I kept thinking, overthinking, agonizing. It became a calling. The trepidation increased: was it the right thing to do? Could I give him enough attention? Would I walk him enough? Still, I decided on a name. Pugs are rather hobbitlike - stocky, focused on creature comforts, independent, second-breakfasting - so Pippin was perfect. In Lord of the Rings, a life manual of sorts for gamer nerd girls like me, Pippin was the mischievous one who did things his own way, y...