Advice for the President

Today is the presidential inauguration, and in the welter of hopes and fervent expectations about Obama's tenure in the White House, I can feel certain about only one thing: they should adopt a dog. Not just any dog: a mutt, perhaps the ugliest mutt they can find, and one from a rescue organization.

We got Archie, our nutty, clever terrier mix, from Midwest Animal Rescue Society (MARS), a group of insanely devoted volunteers who run a sort of underground railroad for dogs. Originally housed in an Arkansas shelter, Archie was slated for euthanasia because, according to MARS, the shelter"warden" was going on vacation, and had no one to substitute for him. Archie made it up here in a crate, driven in a series of hand-offs from Beebe to Saint Paul, arriving on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.

He's a great little dog; responsive, enthusiastic, so eager to please. He spends hours looking out the glass kitchen door, watching "squirrel TV"; released into the yard, he literally climbs into the low crook of our biggest apple tree, trying to get at the squirrels bobbing on branches 15 feel above him. In addition to his kooky determination, he overflows with goodwill; he adores people and other dogs, and generally approaches his life with full-tilt joy. Not a bad role model.

He's counterpoint to Zooey, the Old Black Lab-ish One, who at 15 or 16 (one fact about shelter dogs; you generally don't know quite how old they are) is meditative, slow and creaky from painful arthritis. Archie livens her up, though, forcing her to compete with him for food and attention, keeping her active and at play outside more often than she would on her own. But she is her own sort of model; contemplative and uncomplaining in old age, modest in her needs; still elegant and dignified, and still capable of showing her teeth when provoked beyond tolerance.

I wouldn't consider having only one dog again; it's so obvious how much companionship Archie and Zooey afford one another. And, different as they are, the two of them offer me their contrasting ways of approaching life, undergirded by the same basic, undying love and devotion. So, I amend my advice. Barack—Michelle—don't just get one mutt. Get two.