Guthrie was it for me. NEVER again would I fall so wildly in love. My younger son has pleaded with me not to cheat myself out of such joy. "Of course you can love again, Mom. You know it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

Yeah, right. I cried over the loss of Guthrie for three months. Then I built my wall. For four years it has protected me. That wall.

And then it happened again. I met Scout.

My friend Barb, who had recently adopted Scout, went through open heart surgery a week or so before Christmas. I had not met Scout until the first time I went to her home following her release from the hospital.

There he was. In his pen. His world. Minding his own business. So much like Robert Redford in The Horse Whisperer.

And we would have been fine. Just fine. If we had avoided eye contact. It was his doing. His piercing gaze forced me to return it. Once our eyes met, my legs walked toward him in complete defiance of all instructions I was giving them to turn the other way.

In a matter of seconds I was stroking him. His tale was wagging. All four legs dancing to that tune only lovers know. Lovers at first glance.

I turned