I love dogs. If I didn't have three indoor cats and two outdoor cats and weren't so lazy about walking a dog and cleaning up after it, I would have one. Over the years we have adopted or fostered several dogs, all strays that somehow found their ways into our lives. Living in Miami, it's easy to find a dog since people here show little regard for pets and many are lost or abandoned. Our first dog Blanche, a mixed Spitz, found a good home with a family in South Miami. The next, and dearest, was Finley. I found him, or rather he found me, during a lunch hour. It was one of those rare days when I didn't have lunch with a co-worker so was sitting outside when this balding, pathetic, rib-skinny reddish-brown dog walked up to me an collapsed at my feet. Being very susceptible to guilt I look him home and he was with us and spoiled for four years until he died of all the canine afflictions that come with old age. During his time with us another small dog followed us home. This all-black short-haired female was incredibly loving, but a victim of separation anxiety. We had her about three weeks before we placed her with a woman in Key West. She called shortly after and asked if we knew that Sable (the name she gave her) was pregnant. Of course we didn't, so I volunteered to take her back. Surprisingly the women kept her and Sable gave birth to nine puppies who were all adopted and, I am sure, are today greatly increasing the dog population of Key West. Anyway what started me thinking about dogs was a photo of Willy (above) the dog my fried Peter adopted for the streets of the city in Mexico where he lives. I think it's an amazing photo and, I am told, an amazing dog. Makes me want to go out and adopt one, but how could I find one as special as Willy.