Fourteen years ago yesterday, I met Pablo for the first time. There were six pups in the crate. Three were already spoken for. The remaining three, two males and a female, were let loose on the living room carpet. Eight weeks old, they were roly-roly balls of fluff. I had my heart set on a male, and the female was nippy, so it boiled down to the two males. Which to choose? Both were adorable, but one was more interested in exploring the room, while the other (Pablo) kept returning from his wanderings to play with the three visitors. When I discovered that he was the firstborn of all his siblings–as am I, my daughter, and her dad–it was a done deal. I tend to second-guess my decisions, but I’ve never questioned that one. Not for a second.