Great expectations

Back when Roth and I decided we were ready to get a dog, we took an online compatibility test to determine which breed would be best suited to our lifestyle. We knew we wanted a small dog, one that could easily curl up on a lap, but one sturdy enough to go hiking. The dog most definitely had to have short hair, preferably with a smooth coat that didn't require any expensive grooming. We also hoped for a breed that got along well with adults and children alike, and if it could be trained to do the very basics, like sit and stay, that would be awesome, too. Floppy ears weren't a mandatory requirement, just an added bonus. One of the breeds pretty far down the list of results was a beagle. All along we'd been talking about Jack Russells and other terriers, but we hadn't even considered a beagle. Never mind their breed profile said that they're stubborn, nearly impossible to train and quite, um, vocal, I took one look at a beagle puppy face and decided I wanted one. Roth agreed. That was the dog for us. We scoured the newspaper classifieds and the internet in search of a beagle puppy. For weeks we came up with no results, but one day Roth found an ad on an online classified site for "Easter beagles." The puppies had been born right around Valentine's Day, and they would be ready to go home on Easter. We called the LA-based breeders and found out that there was one female left. They agreed to let us mail them a deposit, with the promise to pay the rest of the fee when we drove down to pick her up in a couple weeks. Then they asked us if we had a name for the puppy, and without skipping a beat, Roth said, "Sierra." The woman said she would start calling the puppy by that name from there on out. It was like we had decided to adopt a baby, and suddenly it had a name. The breeders e-mailed us one grainy digital scan of several pictures of the beagle puppy that was to be ours. In the weeks leading up to when we could pick her up, both Roth and I would stare at the digital pictures on the computer screen, trying to imagine what it would be like to have this puppy in our lives. Would she love us like we already loved her? I remember Roth's mom saying that she imagined he would have a special bond with the dog, just like his dad had with their Springer spaniel Diana, who has since passed away. I could see that, too. Finally it was time to drive down to LA to pick up Sierra. When we got to the house, we were immediately greeted by Sierra's mom Snoopy. She thoroughly sniffed us up and down, as if she was inspecting us to make sure we were the right parents for her little baby. The breeders brought Sierra to us, and she was so tiny. Maybe just three pounds? Utterly adorable. I held her while Roth signed a few papers, and off we went. The adoption process was very quick, and suddenly we were responsible for this living, breathing thing. Sierra slept most of the way home, curled up on my lap. We stopped halfway home, thinking maybe she would want to go to the bathroom. We pulled into a vacant lot and let her walk around a bit. Then she turned on what we now call "turbo sniff," where she put her nose to the ground and violently sniffed around like a possessed Hoover. This was quite hilarious, as it lasted a good five minutes, until finally she squatted and pooped in the parking lot. Yep, that's our girl! More than five years later, Sierra's still our girl, our first "baby." But now there's this new grainy digitally scanned picture we can't stop staring at. Will this baby love us like we already love it?